


Take Me Over inspired Klaine Advent Drabbles

by fhartz91



Series: Take Me Over 'verse [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Angst, Blindfolds, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Fluff, Cock Rings, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Dom/sub, Edible Body Paint, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Handcuffs, Hurt/Comfort, Kinks, Klaine Advent, Light Sadism, M/M, Romance, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:20:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 43,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/fhartz91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are one-shots I wrote for the Klaine Advent challenge of Tumblr (my Tumblr name is lady--divine, or lady-divine-writes, if you are interested in following me) that ended up being inspired by my story Take Me Over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Artist" -Kurt and the Fine Art of Cookie Decorating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is for the first day prompt - "Artist". Rated NC-17.

To say that Kurt Hummel loved decorating Christmas cookies was a gross understatement. Kurt adored it. Kurt wasn’t a big fan of the Christmas holiday itself per se, but decorating cookies was his hidden passion. From the first moment Elizabeth Hummel sat her son on her lap and swept a string of colored gel across a snowman’s neck to make a scarf, Kurt became hooked. Two decades later, Kurt’s collection of edible trims and icings had grown considerably from just a few tubes of colored gels. His little box of tricks contained a full palette of royal icings, all sorts of candied baubles, and delicate silver pearls so beautiful, most people picked them off their cookies to avoid eating them at all.

It wasn’t just the trim that was too beautiful to eat. Kurt knew at least a dozen people who had opted to save instead of savor last year’s signature selection – a cinnamon butter cookie decorated with a faux stained glass window representation of the nativity scene.

Most of Kurt’s friends and associates revered his exquisitely decorated cookies, keeping their distance at this time of year out of respect for the artist.

Everyone, that is, except for Blaine.

Blaine, who should have known better.

Blaine, who should have just left Kurt alone.

Blaine, whose swift fingers had already managed to pilfer six candied buttons, a handful of sugared snowflake sprinkles, and more chocolate and butter biscotti flavored biscuits than Kurt could count.

Kurt eyed the sneaky fingers as they walked comically along the counter, while their owner hid behind the relative safety of the kitchen island, in search of another treat.

The click of metal closing quickly around Blaine’s wrist stopped him short.

“Uh…”

The sneaky thief lifted honey colored eyes to look at his boyfriend, a fire melting through prismatic eyes of steely gray.

“Alright,” Kurt said, pulling on the empty end of the handcuff to get his sub to his feet. “I think it’s about time that you learned a little something about the fine art of cookie decorating, and why it needs to be respected.”

Kurt dragged an enthusiastic and curious Blaine to an obliging kitchen chair and sat him down, attaching the handcuffs to the rung of the chair. Kurt’s skillful hands swiftly undressed Blaine, leaving his shirt hanging down one arm, and otherwise only in his boxer briefs. Kurt left him for a moment to retrieve a plate from the counter. On it were a variety of colorful icings, trims, and brushes. He appraised Blaine for a moment, tilting the man’s head to gaze up at him.

 

“When I was little,” Kurt began, picking up a tiny brush and dabbing it into a fine iridescent powder on his plate, “my mother taught me to decorate cookies.” His brush picked up the glittering dust, which Kurt carefully applied to Blaine’s cheeks.

“It is probably the most special moment I remember spending with my mom.”

Kurt moved Blaine’s head back and forth with a finger to his chin, making sure the dust spread evenly on both sides. He put the brush down, and picked up another, tiny, fine point brush. This he used to pick up a dab of bluish-silver gel.

“You see, Blaine…” Kurt swept the brush along the line of Blaine’s plump lips. “I was six, and I didn’t realize it yet, but my mom was already dying.”

Blaine gasped in a sharp breath as he watched Kurt’s face, brow furrowed in concentration, but eyes misty and distant. Kurt put the brush up to his lips as he looked Blaine over, deciding, and then making a choice. Kurt picked up another brush. Another fine layer of powder dusted Blaine’s neck.

“She drew the most elaborate Christmas scenes, and I always thought there was no way we could fit all of that onto a cookie. Not unless the cookie was the size of a Buick.” Kurt’s voice wavered as he laughed, putting down his brush and picking up a pair of tweezers. With these, he selected individual candied gems, dipped them in white royal icing, and started placing them carefully over Blaine’s eyebrows and along the line of his cheeks.

“But she always managed it. And they were so amazing…I don’t think I’ve ever made one that could match hers…”

Blaine swallowed hard, watching a single tear break free from Kurt’s eye to roll down his cheek, but Kurt’s hands never shook.

“The last Christmas we spent together, we made cookies every day until she went to the hospital…”

Kurt switched from gems to pearls, lining those down the bridge of Blaine’s nose. As the icing dried, it made Blaine’s skin itch, but he didn’t move, didn’t dare twitch. He watched as Kurt continued with his decorating, waiting for him to return from his journey.

“Making these cookies and giving them to my friends, it’s a way of keeping her close.”

Kurt put the plate down, and with a small dollop of a gold infused gel in the palms of his hands, ran his fingers through Blaine’s hair, taming his curls.

Kurt stepped back to look at his masterpiece. He smirked, pulling his iPhone from his pocket and taking a picture.

“And, I can’t do that if you keep stealing my supplies.”

Kurt turned the camera toward Blaine so he could see his face. Decorated in shimmering power with pearls and gems lining his cheeks and eyes, he looked like some sort of mystical elf or magical creature. He smiled, but a sweet sadness filled his chest.

“Kurt…” he whispered, watching as Kurt dusted off his hands and put them on his hips. “I didn’t know. I am so sorry. I…I’ll never steal anything again. I promise.”

Kurt smirked, waving a hand in front of his face.

“I don’t really mind,” Kurt said. “Actually, I usually make extra on purpose just so you can take them.”

Blaine sat up straight, his brow furrowing, his expression incredulous.

“Wh-what? Then…”

Kurt shrugged.

“No reason, really. I was feeling a little down and I just needed to get that off my chest.”

Blaine giggled, shaking his head gently so as not to dislodge the decorations on his face. He sighed when he saw Kurt walk toward him.

“So, what now?” Blaine asked, assuming Kurt would unlock him. Instead, Kurt straddled his lap and slowly, carefully licked the icing from Blaine’s lips.

“Right now,” Kurt whispered, licking his lips, “I’m in the mood to eat my _own_ cookie.”


	2. When You Find People Who Love You…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is for the second day prompt "Belong". Rated G.

Finn, Jr. walked through the front door, slamming it behind him. Kurt and Blaine watched as the boy tossed his book bag to the floor and stomped furiously to his room. He opened the door with all the strength he could muster, and then slammed that door behind him as well.

The whole room full of people, gathered around an undecorated tree, stopped dead, their attentions drawn by the door that had stopped shaking in its jam. Kurt was sure he could hear the sounds of silent sobbing, muffled by a pillow. Dave and Kurt shared a significant look from across the room. In answer, Kurt raised his hand, pointing to himself to signal that he volunteered to talk to Finn. Kurt kissed Blaine gently on the lips before walking to the boy’s room.

Kurt knocked gently on the door.

“Finn?” Kurt called gently, opening the door and stepping inside, closing the door behind him.

Finn had burrowed beneath his NFL comforter, not a hair or limb peeking out, but Kurt could see the stuttered rise and fall of Finn’s chest as he cried quietly.

“Tough day at school?” Kurt asked, sitting at the foot of the bed, hoping that maybe an eye would peek out, giving him some indication that Finn was okay.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” came the muffled reply.

Kurt put a soothing hand on Finn’s leg.

“Come on, sweetie,” Kurt soothed, trying to coax the boy out. “Maybe you’ll feel better if you talk about it.”

Finn sighed, long and dramatic.

“Just some kids at school,” Finn divulged. “They’re being jerks.”

Kurt knew that ‘kids at school’ usually meant two particular kids. Simon and Mason. They had found out through a series of unfortunate events that Finn was not only an orphan, but being raised by two men. This seemed to lead to a recently unending series of taunts and jabs at Finn’s expense.

It had been several years since Finn and Rachel had died, leaving their four kids to Kurt and Dave. Finn, Barbra, Eva, and Elphaba had soon become the lights of their lives. When Kurt met Blaine and they fell in love, the family just continued to grow. Now, with them all living in L.A., they had a house full of love, but Finn, being the eldest and only boy, seemed to feel lost more often than his sisters.

“What did the two braniacs say now?” Kurt sighed.

“Just…just that…” Finn stuttered, choking a bit on his words. Kurt’s heart melted. Whatever they said must have been bad.

“That what, sweetheart?” Kurt prompted gently.

Finn’s breath hitched.

Kurt braced himself for the worst that elementary school kids could come up with.

“They said…they said that since I don’t have a mom and dad, I don’t belong to anyone.”

Kurt hadn’t expected that.

Kurt lay down beside the awkward-shaped lump beneath the comforter.

“That’s not true,” Kurt said reassuringly. “You know that’s not true. You belong with me, and Uncle Dave, and Uncle Blaine…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Finn said, sounding annoyed. “I have a million and one uncles, but no mom and dad.”

Kurt wrapped an arm around Finn’s waist and held the boy close.

“Finn,” Kurt started quietly, “you had an amazing mom and dad. And they loved you very much. That’s why they decided when you were very little that if anything ever happened to them that you and your sisters would come live with Dave and me.”

Finn peeked his head out of the blanket and looked at Kurt through his father’s eyes – eyes that never failed to take Kurt’s breath away.

“So, they gave us to you and Dave, and we belong to you?”

“Not quite,” Kurt explained. “You don’t belong to us, you belong _with_ us.”

“What’s the difference?” Finn asked.

“The difference is this,” Kurt said, pulling the boy out of the comforter, “belonging is less about blood, and more about love.”

Finn made a disgusted face.

Kurt laughed, climbing off the bed and leading Finn to the bedroom door. He opened it and they stepped out, surveying the commotion in the living room. Blaine sat on the floor with Eva, opposite Hunter with Elphaba sitting in his lap. Nick and Barbra were dressing dolls in vintage Bob Mackie dresses. Dave and Adam stood by a large punch bowl, seriously debating egg nog issues. Jeff, standing by the t.v., eyed Finn and smiled brightly, waving a Wii remote in his direction.

“Finn,” Kurt said, wrapping his arms around the boy’s shoulders and kissing the crown of his head, “when you find people who love you, that’s where you belong.”


	3. "Consume" - Useless Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is for the third day prompt - "Consume". Rated PG.

Blaine isn’t always like this. He’s usually pretty good at pushing aside old, useless memories and letting them rot in their graves. For years, as the quintessential TV star playboy, the absence of his mother and father from his life has been easily forgotten. But now, with Kurt by his side, and his new adopted family, Blaine sees only what he’s missing, and none of what he has.

His mom and dad. There’s a place waiting for them, of course, if they ever want to come back and be a part of his new life, but with a sad sigh he realizes that’s never going to happen.

Moving on hasn’t always been easy, but at the very least, it was easily forgettable. Why did it seem so difficult now?

“Hey, love.” Kurt hands Blaine a cookie, carefully wrapped in a green napkin, and sits beside him on the floor. “You know, there’s a perfectly good sofa right there in front of the tree in you needed a place to sit.”

“I know,” Blaine says, putting down his treat without even glancing at it. “I just needed to think.”

Kurt nods his head, knowingly, biting his lip as he looks at their little family spread around the living room. Four kids. Four beautiful, unexpected kids. He couldn’t really think of a better gift. He would rather have Finn and Rachel with them to enjoy the holiday season. It had always been their favorite time of year.

Christmas is always a bittersweet time for Kurt, thinking about all the people he’s loved…and lost.

But it’s hard to dwell on that kind of pain when there is so much joy in the house.

“Did you call them?’ Kurt asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible given the circumstances.

“No, I…I sent them a card. You know, the one we had made with everyone’s picture on it?”

Kurt smiles immediately, remembering the picture they had taken for their Christmas card, and the pandemonium that had ensued.

Kurt loops his arm with Blaine’s and snuggles close.

“I’m so sorry that after all this time your parents are still such asses.”

Blaine couldn’t help chuckling.

“Yeah,” Blaine says, looking down at Kurt’s arm linked with his, the perfect circle they made. “That’s a good way to put it.”

“But, you know, you’ve been sitting here in the corner for close to an hour, and I’m afraid that if I don’t pull you away from here, you’ll stay here all day.”

“I know,” Blaine agrees, “I know. I don’t quite get why it bothers me so much.”

“Because they’re your parents,” Kurt says simply. “They’re supposed to love you unconditionally. And when they don’t, and they turn their backs on you, it’s almost like they’ve died…”

The words catch in Kurt’s throat, and he has to stop and hold Blaine close.

“That’s what it feels like exactly,” Blaine says. He shrugs. “I feel like I’m grieving.”

“I get it,” Kurt says. “And grief is a useful emotion. But you can’t surrender to it. If you give into it too long, it will just consume you. Grief is an emotion that takes and takes and gives almost nothing back.”

“So, what should I do?” Blaine says sadly.

Kurt kisses him on the cheek.

“I think you should read your cookie,” Kurt says cryptically. He gives Blaine a pat on the leg, then stands and walks back to the group of sated kids, involved in their various games and toys, or in the case of little Elphaba, asleep under the tree with a new stuffed dog wrapped in her chubby little toddler arms.

Blaine picks up the forgotten cookie wrapped in its little green napkin and unwraps it delicately, expecting to see one of Kurt’s carefully decorated masterpieces that are too pretty to eat. What he sees lying on the napkin is something far more beautiful.

On the perfectly round sugar cookie is a message just for him, printed in purple gel.

‘I love you.’

The words are by no means written perfectly, and in fact, are terribly misspelled. But none of that matters. He knows who made it. Little Eva, the first of their adopted clan to truly accept Blaine as a member of the family.

This family.

His family.

As he smiles down at the lopsided words, he feels a pair of eyes watching him. He looks up to see a familiar face framed by a head of dark curls staring at him. The brown eyes light up as the little girl smiles, waving madly.

He knows he’s not going to get away with sitting in the corner and letting grief consume him any longer, so he gets up from his seat on the floor and walks over to the sofa so he can share his special Christmas cookie with his best girl.


	4. Not a Thing Would I Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second one-shot for the prompt "Consume". Rated M.

 

Kurt sighs as he removes the last of his clothing, happy and content. After a long day spent designing and re-designing the same pattern over and over, of dealing with high-maintenance clients, and pinning fabrics till his fingers almost bled, this was the perfect way to spend the evening – relaxing naked on his blood red futon, stretching out beside his sub, reading out loud from one of his favorite Jane Austen novels, _Pride and Prejudice_.

Blaine lay beside him, naked as well, but on his stomach, wrists cuffed to the headboard, a small smorgasbord of food lining down his back – mostly berries drizzled with melted chocolate in tiny bowls, and disks of sushi lying on lettuce leaves. After reading a paragraph or two, Kurt leans over to pluck a desirable tidbit into his mouth – first one for himself, and then one for his sub, which he delivers with a searing kiss to the other man’s waiting lips.

In this way they enjoy their dinner, while Kurt regales Blaine yet again with the fortunes and misfortunes of the precocious Ms. Elizabeth Bennet.

“Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word…” Kurt reads, feeding the last of the sushi rounds to Blaine. Blaine takes the whole piece into his mouth, but lingers to kiss and lick Kurt’s fingers, which obligingly hover just in front of his lips.

“After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began-“

Kurt removes the empty bowls from the back of his sub, wrapping his body around Blaine’s as he reads his favorite line.

“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Blaine turns his head towards Kurt, looking to capture Kurt’s lips in a kiss. Kurt always kisses Blaine at this point, either overcome by romance or to keep from crying, Blaine doesn’t know. But it doesn’t matter. Blaine knows Kurt, almost as well as he knows himself. He knows what makes his dom laugh, and what makes him cry. He knows when to be available, and when to keep his distance.

Just as he thought, the moment he turns his head to face him, Kurt is there, his lips claiming Blaine’s over and over, a gentle tongue slipping through the seam of his perfect pink lips to caress Blaine’s tongue in return.

Kurt moves in closer beside Blaine, deepening the kiss, sliding against him, hard and wanting. The book tumbles from his hand, but a tiny slip of paper drifts out, lodging itself beneath Blaine’s arm and the mattress. Kurt’s fingers dance over it, then stop. He plucks it from beneath Blaine’s body, opening his eyes while he continues to kiss Blaine, holding it before his eyes as he reads.

Suddenly, his heart stops cold.

Kurt breaks away from Blaine and stands, as if struck by a bolt of electricity.

Blaine’s eyes open slowly, a dreamy gaze in his confused, golden eyes. When he sees Kurt reading the well-worn sheet of paper, his eyes fly open wide.

“Kurt…”

Blaine pulls against the handcuffs, but they won’t budge.

“Kurt, I can explain…”

Kurt reads over the words on the paper again and again, his brows knitting together, his blue eyes becoming a steely gray, his face flushing red.

“Are these song lyrics?” Kurt sounds cold, angry.

“No,” Blaine says quietly, “it’s a…uh…it’s a poem.”

Kurt holds the page between two fingers.

“About me?”

His voice cracks a little. Blaine swallows hard.

“Yes,” Blaine says evenly.

Kurt reads it again, his mouth moving, mumbling the words softly. When he gets to the final stanza, he reads more loudly.

_And your eyes, my life, consumes,_

_I do not give my love in halves,_

_So you can have all of me,_

_Or not at all._

Kurt knows exactly when Blaine wrote this. Kurt and Blaine don’t fight very often. A rare few have been absolute doozies - one in particular over the fact that Kurt is gay, and Blaine is bi. Blaine made a comment, which he sometimes does without thinking, about a woman, and Kurt took offense.

To be honest, he was heartbroken.

It struck him in that one place where all his insecurities hide; the biggest one being his irrational fear of losing Blaine to a woman.

“Consume? I consume you?” Kurt’s voice raises a fraction, becoming more of a high-pitched whine. His lips quiver and his hands shake. “All of me, or not at all? So, what are you saying, Blaine? Do you not want to be here?”

“No, Kurt! I want to be here! I do. Would I do this if I didn’t?” Blaine says emphatically, pulling on the locked cuffs for emphasis.

Kurt drops down to the futon. Blaine sighs.

“Kurt…I was angry. I felt like you wanted to change me. And, I just want…”

“Want what?” Kurt prompts softly.

“I want what I am to be good enough.”

Kurt smiles and shakes his head.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, Anderson,” Kurt says, standing up and crossing over to his sewing table, “it’s not.”

Blaine drops his head, his face burrowing into the pillow as he bites his lip hard. He doesn’t see Kurt open a small drawer and pull out a folded piece of paper of his own, opening it up and carrying it carefully back to his sub.

He sits back on the mattress. Blaine raises his head, a look of utter resignation and despair on his face.

“It’s more than enough.”

Kurt slips the page on the pillow. Blaine looks down at it, relief and shock flooding his body at the exact same time.

It’s a poem, written by Kurt, after the exact same fight, but this one is all about how much he loves Blaine…just the way he is.

Blaine reads the poem through, but rereads the ending over and over till he has it set to memory.

_…a man who gives me his everything,_

_Unconditionally,_

_Whose flaws are so perfect,_

_Not a thing would I change._

“Do you really mean that?” Blaine asks, looking up at Kurt with hopeful eyes.

“Every word,” Kurt whispers, hugging Blaine’s shoulders and resting his head on Blaine’s back.

Blaine bites his lip, his eyes flicking down at the poem on his pillow, and then back at his dom lying on his back.

“Would you show me?” Blaine asks sweetly. “Show me all the things about me that you wouldn’t change?”

Kurt smiles, shaking his head and looking over Blaine’s beautiful, bound body.

“Give me a second,” Kurt says, straddling Blaine’s hips and running his hands up Blaine’s sides and over his back. “I just have to figure out where to start.”


	5. Hands Off!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt agrees to take Blaine to a BDSM club in Hollywood, but while they’re there, another Dom decides that he wants Blaine for himself…and tries to take him.
> 
> Warnings for anxiety, predatory behavior, riding crops, whipping, bondage, punishment, blindfolds, anal plugs and sex. 
> 
> I decided to write this and include all the prompts from the last three days - Artist, Belong, and Consume.

It’s a strange club that Kurt takes Blaine to, even by BDSM standards. It’s almost like a BDSM club meets 80’s retro/90’s fusion dance club with a touch of blind date hook-up all mixed together. There’s a vibe throughout that Kurt doesn’t necessarily groove on, but they’re not at this club for _Kurt_.

Tonight is about Blaine.

It surprised Kurt when Blaine asked him to go. It’s no secret that Kurt and Blaine, though extremely and enviably in love, shared a committed Dom/sub relationship. This part of Kurt’s life first lured Blaine into his bed, after the whole “love at first sight” thing factored in, of course. Being a Dom also helped Kurt launch his insanely popular clothing line, but that’s beside the point. Kurt’s business image merges his Dom self with a carefully crafted public persona. Mostly, Kurt and Blaine keep their deviant pleasures private. So when Blaine approached Kurt and asked him if they could go to this club that Nick had discovered in Hollywood, Kurt’s first instinct was to object, but a part of him was undeniably intrigued.

Kurt had been to BDSM clubs before in San Diego as part of his job, when being a Dom was something he did to pay the bills, but he had happily transitioned into a life of peaceful domesticity with his claimed sub and his motley family.

Kurt didn’t Dom for hire anymore, and he didn’t need to go clubbing. In the end, he agreed to go out tonight because he would do anything for Blaine.

Blaine had been over-the-top excited when Kurt said yes. He had no idea what to expect, and regardless of the stories Kurt told him, his imagination ran rampant. He asked endless questions. He even wanted to know if Kurt would have to dress him in a leather collar and keep him on the end of a chained leash.

Kurt cocked an eyebrow.

“Do you _want_ to be on a leash?” Kurt had asked, stifling a laugh, charmed by his sub’s enthusiasm.

“Uh…” Blaine had rolled his eyes to the ceiling, conjuring up images and fantasizing. Finally, he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

“Maybe not for the first time out,” Blaine said. “But, I wouldn’t object to a collar…if you don’t think it would be too tacky.”

Kurt made Blaine a tasteful black leather collar with a subtle _KH_ embellished on it in petite white rhinestones. He presented it to Blaine during a private ceremony – just the two of them at the Four Seasons, in a penthouse suite where Kurt spent a long, luxurious evening making love to his bound sub while he wore his new collar. It goes well with Blaine’s sleekly tailored violet Paul Fredrick dress-shirt and black slacks, and Kurt can’t help how incredibly turned on he gets having such a handsome man by his side.

As they walk through the double-doors and into the main lounge, Kurt isn’t the only one who notices how desirable his sub is.

“Now remember,” Kurt says, pulling Blaine aside and unbuttoning another button of his shirt to make his collar obvious, “you stay right behind me. You don’t talk to anyone without my permission, and you don’t leave me for a minute. Do you understand?”

Blaine bites his lower lip and nods, too excited to mirror Kurt’s serious mood. Kurt shakes his head at Blaine’s adorable smile.

“Why don’t we go get a drink?” Kurt suggests, leading his sub further into the club. They head for the wrap-around bar where other Doms sit and chat with their subs in their laps or kneeling on the floor – silent and obedient, waiting for commands. It happens so quickly that Blaine doesn’t even know _how_ it happens exactly, but somewhere between the dance floor and the bar, Blaine becomes separated from Kurt. A strong hand takes Blaine by the elbow and drags him away before Blaine thinks to call out for help.

The whole atmosphere of this club has unconsciously changed Blaine’s attitude. It makes him feel _more_ like a sub in a strange, mind-altering way. So when the firm hand grabs him and leads him into the corner, Blaine finds himself completely at a loss as to what he should do, but he knows, no matter what, he needs to get back to Kurt.

The man that has taken him – tall, muscular, with rough hands and a thin set mouth – traps Blaine against the wall, blocking his view.

“Wow,” the man mutters gruffly, his whole body reeking of cheap cologne and cheaper Vodka, “look what I managed to snag here, and right out from under the nose of that fairy fuck.” The man sneers, his top lip curling over chemically-whitened teeth, his dull brown eyes roving over Blaine with a dirty, hungry glare.

Blaine starts to sweat, his whole body shaking. He knows that Kurt forbade him from talking to anyone without permission, but he’s sure that in this particular instance that rule doesn’t apply.

“You can’t touch me,” Blaine says, remembering things that Kurt had said and trying to sound more confident than he feels. “I’m a claimed sub. I have a collar.” He stretches out his neck in an attempt to make his collar visible. In the neon lights of the club, the crystal _KH_ sparkles to great effect. Blaine can see it throw colors on to the man’s grey shirt.

“I don’t see anything,” the man replies slyly, purposefully looking everywhere but Blaine’s collar. He moves in closer, a venomous grin splitting his lips, and whispers, “and I didn’t give you permission to speak.”

Blaine sees the man’s intentions in his eyes as he raises a hand to strike him. Blaine tries to move his own arms, but they feel like lead hanging at his sides. He braces himself for the strike across his face…but it never comes.

Long, pale fingers wrap around the man’s raised wrist and yank him roughly away.

“What the fuck!?” the man wails, pulling violently to be free of the hand squeezing his wrist, but to no avail. “Get the fuck off me, you Tinkerbell freak!” he roars, but Kurt refuses to let go. Kurt doesn’t even break his stride when he rears around and smacks the man across the face with Blaine’s leather riding crop (which he had brought along as a surprise for Blaine and kept hidden beneath his jacket).

“You can’t do that to me!” the man hisses through the pain, his lip swelling immediately, followed by his nose. “I’m not a sub!”

“No,” Kurt combats coolly, “you’re a bitch. And when I’m done with you, you’ll wish you never tried to pass yourself off as a Dom.”

Kurt drags the man through the crowd. Catching him off guard, Kurt cuffs his wrist (the police-grade cuffs were another surprise he had hidden under his jacket), and attaches the other end to a rail along the edge of the bar. Other patrons at the bar move aside, not willing or caring to get involved in another Dom’s business. Kurt grabs the man’s shirt collar and tears off his Marc Jacobs knock-off button down, exposing his muscular back.

The man peers up through his one non-blackened eye to see Kurt standing over him, steely eyes shining, the leather riding crop in his hands.

“You wouldn’t dare,” the man growls, his voice a combination of rage and fear. The slim, delicate-looking man before him is not weak as he first assumed and now, he’s not looking forward to what he knows awaits him.

“Then maybe you should learn to keep your fucking hands off!” Kurt growls back. “You want to know what we do to sub predators where I come from?” Kurt asks to no one in particular, but a small group of suddenly interested Doms and subs gather around for the show.

Blaine can’t see Kurt beat the other man senseless, but the groans and grunts he hears are enough to tell Blaine that the man is getting what he had coming to him. Blaine’s heart speeds, remembering all the nights he spent tied to his bed while Kurt whipped _him_ with a crop. He feels himself grow hard, longing for the night to be over – longing for Kurt to take him home.

The crop sings as it slices through the air, the tethered man struggling and swearing as he tries to squirm away. He nearly passes out by the time Kurt decides he’s had enough.

The bartender returns, having stepped away so he wouldn’t be called upon to intervene. He looks over the crisscross patterns on the man’s back and nods approvingly.

“You’re quite the artist,” he says with a wink.

Kurt sighs, exhausted. He’s feeling that beating in his upper arm. He’s not a young Dom anymore.

“Here,” Kurt says, reaching in his pocket for his wallet. “Let me pay my bill.”

“Oh, no,” the bartender says, waving Kurt’s money away. “I’ll put it on _his_ tab.”

Kurt nods with a tired smile. He turns and cuts back through the crowd, seeking out Blaine. He finds his sub standing nervously off to the side with a group of other subs, all unclaimed, all women, cooing at him soothingly and hovering around him, keeping him out of sight of other possible predatory Doms. They part, heads bowed, when Kurt appears.

Blaine smiles at Kurt, gazing up at him through long lashes, keeping his head obediently bowed as well. Kurt says nothing, extending a hand to his sub, his face stern, his eyes hard. He doesn’t look pleased. Still, it takes all of Blaine’s discipline not to make a scene and crush himself against Kurt’s body.

“Come on,” Kurt commands, his voice unwavering though he’s breathless underneath, “I’m taking you home.”

* * *

Blaine is taken back by Kurt’s silence on the drive home. He barely looked at Blaine when they left the club, didn’t really acknowledge him other than to tell him to get into the car. Blaine doesn’t understand how his Dom feels. Personally, Blaine feels slightly embarrassed, and he desperately wants to talk to Kurt, but Kurt’s body language screams _not now_. He keeps his eyes glued to the road and his thoughts occupied elsewhere.

Kurt pulls up to Blaine’s house and Blaine’s heart hurts. It’s been a long time since Blaine moved in with Kurt and his family, but Kurt is obviously so disgusted by what happened that he’s going to drop Blaine off at his old house to spend the night alone.

Blaine doesn’t want to be alone. He never wants to be alone again.

They enter the house in silence and Blaine locks the door behind them without being told. Kurt motions wordlessly to the bedroom. Blaine follows behind his Dom, who walks through the bedroom door and heads straight for the bathroom.

“You know how I want you,” he says without a glance back at Blaine, and even though the command is icy and devoid of emotion, a glimmer of hope flares in Blaine’s chest.

* * *

If Blaine has to venture a guess as to how long he’s been tied in an iron cross to his bedposts, his cock bound in a brand new and restrictive ring, blindfolded and plugged, he would have to say over an hour. Sweat rolls off his back, his ass, his shoulders, even his scalp. He feels the hard leather of his own personal riding crop - recently disinfected if the strong smell of Lysol is any indicator - come in contact with his skin over and over, welts forming over other welts, cutting through his skin in a way Kurt has never done before.

It’s not unbearable, but it’s definitely a lesson.

“How are you doing, princess?” Kurt snarls, and Blaine can’t help but wonder what Kurt is angrier at – Blaine for asking to go to the club to begin with, the man for trying to steal him away, or himself for not keeping a better eye on Blaine.

Blaine hears a tiny quiver in Kurt’s otherwise stony voice when he speaks. Kurt seemed so cool, calm, and collected at the club. Had he actually been scared?

Either way, this hour of punishment has Blaine’s body full to bursting, his cock so hard within the confines of its cage that, cock ring or no, Blaine is about to cum. He tries not to pull on the ropes around his wrists, tries not to moan as the leather stings his back, tries to be the picture of absolute and utter discipline.

He wants Kurt. He needs Kurt badly. But the only way he’s going to get Kurt is through obedience.

Blaine’s mind wanders too far. He doesn’t hear Kurt ask him a direct question and give him permission to respond. Kurt grabs a handful of Blaine’s curls and tugs, bringing Blaine’s ear close to his mouth.

“I’m so sorry, princess,” Kurt grinds out through his teeth. “Am I boring you?”

With that, he hits Blaine across the ass. He hits him _hard_.

This time Blaine feels pain…pain with an edge. It pushes the metal plug in Blaine’s hole further inside his ass – close to where Blaine wants it but not close enough. The sensation explodes within him like a bonfire, raging out of control, consuming every other sensation around it. Kurt’s words hang in the air over his head like an anvil, waiting to fall, as his terrible black swan whips him mercilessly.

“Tell me, princess…” Kurt’s voice is calm, with a subtle crackle beneath it, building like lightning. It makes Blaine’s hair stand on end. “Who do you belong to?”

Kurt waits, anticipating, seeing how Blaine will respond. When he doesn’t say a word, doesn’t make a sound, Kurt smiles wickedly, but with soft corners.

“Good boy,” Kurt purrs, pleased to see that Blaine remembers his manners. “ _Now_ , you may respond.”

“You.” Blaine pants in an effort to control the labored rise and fall of his chest, trying to stave off hyperventilation. “I belong to you. Only to you.”

“Very good,” Kurt says, looking Blaine’s body over, appraising the marks.

Kurt steps up behind him. He molds his bare chest to his sub, leaning in to the welts on Blaine’s back, knowing they’ll sting from the contact. Blaine doesn’t hiss. He doesn’t cry out. He’s a good sub, an obedient sub, deserving of Kurt’s love and affection.

He belongs to Kurt.

“You know,” Kurt whispers, “I know this wasn’t all your fault.” Kurt threads his arms underneath Blaine’s, raking his nails down Blaine’s chest, leaving raised tracks in their wake. “I saw the look in his eye. I knew he was after you. You were supposed to stay with me, Blaine. It’s my job to take care of you.”

Blaine’s head hangs as he absorbs the heat of Kurt’s body, seeping straight through his wounds, connecting with his blood, which is where Kurt belongs.

Inside Blaine’s blood.

Not just in that animalistic _fuck him stupid_ way or that melancholy _I can’t live without you_ way.

But in that sweet _you’re in my heart and soul_ way.

And mostly that _you’re my undeniable everything_ way.

Here they stay - Blaine hanging by his wrists, poised on the balls of his feet to keep from falling while Kurt holds him, pressing against him in sinful black vinyl pants polished by Blaine’s tongue sliding up his leg and Blaine’s lips mouthing over Kurt’s erection before he was bound to the bed.

“Do you want me, Blaine?” Kurt whispers, his lips moving carefully along Blaine’s bruised skin. “Do you want to feel me inside you?”

Blaine wants to answer. He’s dying to scream _yes, God yes,_ but until he gets that one little command, everything he wants remains unvoiced.

“You may respond, sweetheart,” Kurt breathes.

“Yes,” Blaine rushes out quickly. “Yes, I want you.”

Kurt’s body disappears. He unzips his boots, slipping them off and tossing them to the floor so Blaine can hear them land. Then he peels off his vinyl pants, the material creaking as he rolls them down his legs, and drapes them over the boots. Blaine can’t see with the blindfold covering his eyes, but he knows his black swan is naked, and the thought of Kurt’s unclothed body behind him nearly tips him over the edge. He feels the plug carefully removed but everything else remains, which is good because one glimpse of Kurt’s skin would be Blaine’s undoing, as would Kurt’s erection pushing into Blaine’s body if not for the cage.

Kurt grabs Blaine’s hips. Blaine assumes this will be hard and fast, but he’ll take it that way.

He’ll take whatever Kurt gives him.

Kurt’s first push into Blaine’s body, smooth and slow, takes Blaine by surprise. Blaine’s head rolls back against Kurt’s shoulder as Kurt moves, pushing deep into his body, sinking in until they’re pressed together, skin to skin, his arms wrapped around Blaine’s middle, holding him still.

Blaine gives and Kurt takes, and while he does, he whispers so softly Blaine almost doesn’t hear.

“I love you, Blaine. I won’t let anyone take you. I can’t let anyone else have you. You belong to me, Blaine. You belong _with_ me.”

Blaine wants to agree but his mind slips away. His restless body aches for release - his mind, his body, his soul all burn. Kurt’s hips quicken, speeding up the pace, his fingers tightening around Blaine’s hips.

“Oh, my Blaine,” he moans, his voice raw and possessive. “My beautiful, beautiful Blaine.”

Steady fingers undo the cage around Blaine’s cock and he knows that Kurt has given him permission to cum.

And Blaine does. He cums hard before Kurt’s hips begin to stutter. Kurt’s forgiveness is like the answer to an unasked question that’s been hanging in the air too long. He shows it by burying himself inside Blaine’s body and filling him up.

Kurt knows his sub. He doesn’t even give himself a moment to bask in the afterglow before he unties Blaine’s wrists and lays him down on the bed on his stomach, head raised up on pillows so he doesn’t pass out.

Kurt lies down beside him, planning on being there only long enough to make sure Blaine can breathe comfortably again before Kurt starts the process of cleaning Blaine’s wounds and rewarding him for his discipline, for his obedience, for his acceptance of punishment. Blaine breathes hard as he stares at his Dom, and Kurt listens, waiting for Blaine to relax.

“You’re a good boy, Blaine,” Kurt whispers, brushing sweat-dampened curls off Blaine’s forehead. “You’re a very good boy.”

Blaine gasps softly, and then he smiles.

That sentiment is all Blaine needed to hear.

Kurt sees a question, a comment, something dancing around his sub’s trembling lips, but it’s still difficult for him to speak, so Kurt leans in and kisses Blaine’s voice steady.

“Tell me,” Kurt whispers.

“I thought…” Blaine swallows. He hadn’t wanted to admit to it, but he needs to say it out loud. “I thought you were going to leave me here.”

Kurt’s eyes open wide. He kisses Blaine again, but this time it’s not the kiss of a Dom for his sub, but of a man for the man he loves.

“I will never leave you, Blaine,” Kurt says, resting their foreheads together, wallowing in the gold of Blaine’s eyes. “I will never, ever abandon you. No matter how I feel. You belong with me. Understand?”

Blaine nods, his mouth brushing Kurt’s, his skin feather soft and his lips whispering quiet words of love and support.

Kurt promised Blaine a while ago that he would always be there for him.

He refused to be another person in Blaine’s life who turned their back on him.

“I want…” Blaine starts, hiccupping the words between breaths. “I want…”

“A picture?” Kurt finishes, smiling as Blaine weakly nods.

Kurt climbs off the bed and locates his jacket, laid carefully over the chair in the corner. He fishes the cell phone out of his pocket and walks back to Blaine. Kurt photographs the marks that cross up and down Blaine’s back and over his ass. When he’s got them all, he lies back down beside Blaine and shows him the screen.

Blaine raises a shaking hand and swipes through the pictures, looking at the angry red welts that litter his skin. When he reaches the end, he smiles.

“Wow,” Blaine says with a tired chuckle. “That bartender was right. You _are_ quite the artist.”

 


	6. Puddle of Mud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is for Day 4 - "Dirt". Rated G.

Kurt put the last pin into the sleeve of the silk organza dress when he noticed it, and his blood ran cold. Silence. Absolute quiet. With four rowdy kids in his life, the last thing he wanted to hear was nothing. He looked at his watch. 2:15. He had been at this dress for over two hours. Kurt actually felt panicked. Where were they? He stepped outside his little backyard studio and took a look around. Another peaceful L.A. day, with the sun bright overhead, and the wind blowing through the branches of the trees.

But nowhere could he see hide or hair of his kids.

Come to think of it, where the hell was Blaine?

Then, Kurt knew.

He stomped through the back patio doors and found them where he had so many afternoons this week – four children and Blaine, covered in head to toe mud, sneaking into the bathroom.

“Blaine Devon Anderson!” Kurt practically screeched. “This is the third time this week! We’re digging a pool outside, not a mud wrestling pit!”

Blaine tried to look ashamed, but he only managed mildly sheepish, especially with little Eva squirming in his arms, giggling, as she squished a clod of still damp dirt between her fingers.

“Oh, come on,” Blaine said, shifting the little girl from hip to hip to keep her steady. “It’s not going to be a big, fun dirt pit for too much longer. Besides, how can you have four kids and a big back yard and not get dirty? Isn’t it some sort of requirement?”

Kurt huffed.

“Look at me, Blaine,” Kurt said, motioning to his spotless ensemble. “How many years have I had these kids, and do you see a spot of dirt on me? Huh? No! That’s right.”

Blaine hung his head, finally looking properly ashamed.

“You’re right, Kurt,” Blaine said, a smile hidden in his voice. “There’s not a speck of dirt on you.”

Then, Blaine’s eyes flicked up, their teasing glint all too clear.

Kurt shook his head, reaching behind him for the door knob.

"Blaine..." Kurt said, his voice a warning, "don't you dare..."

“Come on, kids!” Blaine yelled to the gaggle of little kids, “Get him!”


	7. The Ground beneath Our Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another drabble for day 4 "Dirt". Rated PG.

Blaine woke up alone, brought out of a deep sleep by the faint sound of scraping right outside the bedroom window. Blaine squinted, trying to find a glimpse of his beautiful dom anywhere in the room. The orchid colored walls made the room seem darker. It was almost impossible to see anything but silhouettes and shapes.

“Kurt?” Blaine’s hoarse voice whispered into the dark. “Kurt? Are you there?”

No sound at all but the crackle of the baby monitor in the corner, and the mid-summer breeze furling and unfurling the sheer curtains.

Another scraping sound, like a kitten scratching down the wooden boards of the patio outside. The sound, combined with the overwhelming dark, made everything that much more surreal. Blaine’s squinty eyes turned to the clock on the table by the bed. The red numbers read 3:30 A.M.

“Ugh!” Blaine groaned. In three hours he’d have to go pick-up Burt and Carole at the airport.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place.

As if emphasizing the point, another prolonged scrape sounded from right underneath the window.

“Kurt,” Blaine groaned a little louder. “Again with the height of the lilies?”

Kurt’s face slowly emerged from beneath the windowsill as Blaine got up out of bed. Blaine couldn’t help but snicker when he saw his stylish dom, his gorgeous boyfriend, face smeared with dirt where he had brushed his hair from his face over and over again. Kurt’s expression, sheepish and repentant, also looked innocent and almost childlike. Blaine had only ever seen it once – when they had driven the kids to see their grandparents for the first time in years.

“Kurt…” Blaine approached the window, peeking out to look at the gorgeous white flowers glowing in the moonlight. Kurt’s Burberry pajama pants, however, were most likely ruined. “I’m sure your dad will appreciate all the effort you're putting in to make the house beautiful, but he’s coming here to see you and the kids, not the flowers.”

Kurt pouted slightly.

“The flowers aren’t for my dad,” Kurt retorted, “they’re for Carole. And they’re callas, Blaine! Do you know what that means?”

“No, Kurt,” Blaine said with a smile and a shake of his head, “I can honestly say I have no idea what that means.”

“It _means_ ,” Kurt sneered, “that placement is key. If the bulbs stay wet, they’ll rot. If they get too much sun, they’ll burn. I was stupid this afternoon, planting them too low, and in afternoon sun? Why didn’t I just light them on fire? No, under the sills is perfect…the soil gets plenty of air, and there’s a slight rise, they’re not too close to the house, and…”

Kurt’s eyes burned into Blaine’s honey-gold gaze as his sub began to laugh.

Kurt didn’t even need to ask.

“Kurt, this isn’t about the height of lilies, is it?” Blaine reached out a hand and swiped some dirt from Kurt’s forehead, rolling it through its fingers, feeling the smooth, silky texture. He couldn’t help but notice how cute Kurt looked with some dirt on his face.

Kurt sighed.

“You know, I’m a perfectionist…” Kurt looked down at his feet, kicking at the dirt right beneath his toes. “But, I’ve been failing for so long, with my life, with these kids. My father’s only known me as a failure. I’m sort of nervous about him seeing me as a success.”

Blaine furrowed his brow. He could kind of see where Kurt was coming from, but it was hard for Blaine to ever think of Kurt as a failure.

“And this house,” Kurt continued, “I want it to seem like a home. My dad gave me a home…and now…I need this to be one.”

Blaine’s eyes narrowed as he considered Kurt’s words. He put up a finger, turning away from the window and running to the closet. He reached up for an old, worn shoe box on the shelf above the clothes. He pulled it down and carried it over to the window.

Kurt looked at the box, his eyes wide.

“Is that…”

“Yeah…” Blaine shrugged self-consciously. “It’s the box my parents sent me when they wrote me out of their lives. The one with all the letters and…well, I keep all sorts of things in here now…”

Blaine rummaged through the box and pulled out an old film canister.

“Including this.”

He handed it to Kurt. Kurt popped the lid carefully and looked inside. He raised an eyebrow, looking at the contents suspiciously. He lifted the canister to his nose and sniffed it.

“It’s dirt,” Kurt said conclusively.

“Yup,” Blaine said, taking the container back. “My mom gave it to me. You see, when she left the Philippines as a little girl, she left her family, her home, everything. She didn’t even have a suitcase. The only thing she took with her was this. Back when she still loved me…she gave it to me. She told me that as long as I had it, I would never forget where home was…where my family came from…”

Without a second thought, Blaine overturned the canister and emptied it into the lilies underneath the sill.

“Blaine!” Kurt squealed, louder than he intended. “What are you…”

“Now, this is home.” Blaine put the canister back in the box, and the box on the floor.

“But, Blaine…”

“But nothing, Kurt.” Blaine took Kurt’s hands in his, aware that Kurt’s filthy hands shed dirt whenever Blaine touched them. “This house is not a home because that dirt’s here, or because the lilies are under the windowsill, or because there’s a roof over our heads. This house is a home because you’re here, and the kids are here, and because it’s filled room to room with love. And you…” Blaine put a dirt stained finger beneath Kurt’s chin, lifting his downcast eyes to stare into his “…are not a failure. You never were. It doesn’t matter if we were living in a broken down trailer, or this house, or a box by the river…love makes a house a home. And this dirt…it’s just the ground beneath our feet.”

Kurt smiled, leaning forward through the window to kiss his boyfriend softly, giggling as grains of soil dislodged from his hair and fell, tickling his nose.

“How about we go take a shower,” Blaine suggested, standing back a bit so Kurt could scoot in through the open window, “and you can get me a little dirty.”

 


	8. The Perfect Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't feel bad for posting this because we all know this is where it's headed anyway. Another drabble for day 4 prompt "Dirt". Rated G.

**A/N:** _I don't feel bad posting this because we all know this is where it's headed anyway :) Another drabble for day 4 "Dirt". rated G._

 

 

“Where did you hear about this car from?” Blaine asked Finn as he picked his way through tall weeds and a myriad of old, abandoned car parts.

“I saw the ad on Craigslist,” Finn answered, chipper as he bounded through the field, zeroing in on an aging car in the distance.

“But why here?” Kurt called to the teenager, picking carefully over gopher holes that sprouted almost as numerous as the weeds. “It looks like a scene from _Deliverance_ ,” he added under his breath.

“Well, to be fair, you said he got to pick the car you bought him for his birthday,” Adam added, tripping over a rock in his way. Dave caught his arm just in time.

“Yeah, but I guess I just assumed…”

“No assuming, Uncle Dave,” Eva yelled, sprinting out past him to catch up with Blaine, “it makes an…”

“Don’t you finish that, young lady,” Kurt barked.

Eva stuck her tongue out as she latched onto Blaine’s free hand. Blaine scrunched his nose, rubbing it against hers, and whispered in her ear, “It makes an ass out of you and me.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. Then his blue eyes went wide. They all stopped short when they saw it.

“This…is a car…right?” Adam asked, looking from one astonished face to another.

“In theory,” Dave answered.

“The car in question was a Mustang once, I’m assuming?” Kurt approached the vehicle, appraising the mound of metal critically.

“Finn,” Blaine said, addressing the boy, still making heart eyes at the broken down vehicle. “I promised you could have any car you wanted…”

“Good,” Finn said, “because I want this one.”

Dave shot Kurt an amused look.

“Who does _that_ sound like?” Dave teased.

“Oh, Finn,” Kurt said, scrunching his nose at the discolored lump of metal that could barely be classified as a car. “It’s covered in five feet of dirt.”

“I think that might be what’s keeping it together,” Dave joked.

“I think there are actually squirrels living in here,” Adam offered, peeking underneath one of the wheel wells.

“Come on, guys,” Finn pleaded, “haven’t you just…you know…you looked at something and known it was meant to be yours…forever?”

Finn looked over the car, seeing its potential.

Kurt looked at Blaine.

Dave looked at Adam.

All four men sighed.

“I’ll call a tow,” Adam said, kissing Dave softly on the forehead and pulling out his iPhone.

“And I’ll go pay for this lump,” Kurt said, pecking Blaine sweetly on the lips.

“Hey,” Blaine called. “Ask him if the squirrels come with the car.”


	9. A New Take on a Classic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Written for day 5 prompt - "Echo". Rated G.

Kurt sat on the end of his oversized, four-poster, king sized bed and sighed. This was the fifteenth time in about as many years that Kurt had tried to redecorate his room. His personal style was always changing, fashion transforming and evolving with every passing trend. Even his design studio had gone under the knife a couple of times, thanks to a generous benefactor and the help of Nick's talented eye. So, why was it his room remained untouched, safe from the ever changing whims and fancies of one Kurt Hummel?

The reason was actually pretty clear. The whole room, from carpet to ceiling, was a gift from Blaine, decorated in surprise and secret to Kurt's exacting standards. But even he had to admit that the Dior Orchid walls were a little more than last season, the pale gray carpet looked a little more worse for the wear, and the sheer white curtains, though meticulously cleaned were starting to yellow.

Blaine wrapped a comforting arm around Kurt's waist. Kurt leaned a head against Blaine's shoulder.

"You could always lighten the walls up just a bit," Blaine suggested.

Kurt shook his head and sighed.

"No. You have to be committed to a color like orchid. It's like a religion. Otherwise, I might as well just go down to the Home Depot and buy any other God awful shade of purple and slap it up there."

Blaine's lips twitched into a small grin. He didn't want to chuckle, not when Kurt looked so distressed.

"Okay, then maybe we can just go ahead and replace the carpet…"

Blaine heard a soft gasp. He rolled his eyes fondly.

"We'll get the same color," Blaine amended, "just new. How about that?"

Another shake of the head.

"They discontinued this color years ago, and I've never been able to find one that matches perfectly. So, no."

Blaine's eyes swept the room. Kurt kept his room fairly minimalist – no art on the walls except for a few beloved pictures, and not a lot of furniture. So, in reality, there wasn't much he could add or take away that would change the overall look of the room without making a major overhaul.

Kurt had already re-done most of the house, and the backyard. The living room had undergone several facelifts already. The dining room was so far removed from the original décor, Blaine could barely recall that the walls had originally been caramel in color. And the kids' rooms…well, three of them were gone already, and the fourth, little Elphaba, was on the verge of flying the coop. Those three rooms hadn't been immune.

Blaine knew the rapidly emptying house was what this desire to remodel was mostly about.

Kurt, ever the dom, needed something to control.

This room seemed, in some strange way, to be the last piece of the puzzle, and yet it remained locked in the past.

Kurt's eyes fell on the vanity in the corner. His mother's vanity.

"Maybe it's time," Kurt breathed. "Maybe I should just get around to replacing that old thing."

Kurt stood up and approached it slowly. He ran his hands reverently over the smooth surface and smiled. He could almost hear the echoes of his past when he touched it. He remembered the first time him mother sat him on her lap to watch as she carefully applied her makeup, how she would spray her perfume and deliberately hit him instead, her infectious laugh at the way his nose scrunched up and his eyes squeezed shut.

"No," Blaine said defiantly. "No, that I will not agree to."

Kurt smiled. Of course, he would never replace his mother's vanity. It was just nice to hear a little of Blaine's own dominant nature come through every once in a while.

"Okay," Kurt said, turning on his heel to face Blaine, "I'm not leaving this room without changing something, so what? What do I change?"

Blaine stood up and spun around slowly, finger tapping his chin.

"The curtains," he said finally. "We'll change the curtains."

"Fine," Kurt said, his mouth set in a thin line. "Let's go to the fabric store so I can get started.

"Great." Blaine took his dom's arm, "what were you thinking?"

"I'm thinking…sheer…and white…"

Blaine stopped short.

"Kurt," he whined, "but the old curtains are sheer and white!"

"Yes," Kurt said sagely, "but they're _mostly_ sheer and more of an arctic white. I was thinking of something a little _less_ sheer, and closer to a cream color."

Kurt kissed Blaine on the cheek, his eyes dancing with excitement at the idea.

"You'll love it," Kurt promised. "It'll be a new take on a classic."


	10. Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was written for day 6 prompt "falter". No trigger warnings, but this chapter is unrated.

Blaine shuddered, attempting to take a breath in, but failing; the resulting inhale, sharp and painful, burning his lungs, an acrid poison seeping in through his sinuses. Blood rushed through his body and roared in his ears, pounding in his skull with the deafening ferocity of an ocean plunging thousands of feet over the side of a ravine. Sweat didn’t drip down his skin, didn’t trickle, it poured out his body, effusing from every pore. He was sweating in places that he didn’t realize could even sweat. He felt it weave through his curls in streams, collecting at his hairline, then racing down his face. It tickled his nose and stung his eyes. He swiped at his forehead with the back of an equally sweaty hand, but it kept coming, kept tormenting him; he couldn’t wipe it away fast enough.

His soaked shirt clung to his back and chest, tightening around him when he found the strength to move. He cursed his sweat pants for trapping in every last degree of his body heat. One pathetic fan, oscillating in the corner of the stifling room, did nothing to cool his overheated skin. Instead, it simply relocated the hot air, shifting it back and forth from one side of the room to the other, taunting him with the promise of a relief it could not deliver. If there was any way Blaine could strip down to his boxer briefs, he would have. He didn’t think anyone would really mind. None of the blank faces surrounding him seemed concerned with his agony. But Blaine didn’t have control. His _Dom_ had all the control and he exercised it cruelly. Blaine knew Kurt wouldn’t allow him to disrobe.

Besides, Blaine wasn’t really in the mood to get arrested.

Blaine groaned, bowing his head, gritting his teeth at the cramp creeping up his back and torquing his muscles. But just as he thought he’d reached his brink, Kurt punished him again, over and over, pushing him towards the edge till his heart hammered against his ribs and his muscles screamed for mercy.

One glance at his reflection in the mirror in front of him told Blaine that he couldn’t take much more, but he had no choice. Safety words were strictly forbidden in _this_ den of torture.

“Come on, precious,” Kurt commanded in his sing-song voice, filled with equal parts sweetness and menace. “Keep up.”

A titter of high-pitched laughter followed Kurt’s demeaning reprimand, the noise multiplying until the whole room echoed with it. Blaine didn’t have the will in him to care at this point. His arms could no longer handle the strain and hung limply at his sides. His feet had gone numb. He moved by momentum alone. The burning in his lungs became so torturous, he started holding his breath.

That turned out to be a huge mistake.

Blaine’s vision began to blur. A thick haze obscured his vision, the dizzying euphoria that came with oxygen deprivation washing through him, replacing the pain. Suddenly, Blaine couldn’t _stop_ himself from moving, lured in this strange dance by the high-pitched sound of Kurt’s voice, his laughter, even his occasional insults at Blaine’s expense. Blaine was powerless against it, against Kurt’s manipulating him like a puppet, plying his sub to his will.

Blaine began to giggle. That giggle echoed, but when it bounced back to his ears, it sounded peculiar. The voices pinging around his ears didn’t entirely resemble his own. His limbs, still moving without his express permission, started to falter. The world tilted and spun, picking up speed. He was standing in one spot but had the bizarre experience of seeing everything at once, in front of and behind him.

“Blaine?” A beautiful voice, full of worry, broke through the haze - his black swan becoming his angel again. “Blaine!”

Blaine felt himself fall through the air, limbs light as he plummeted to the hard wood floor. Blaine stared toward the ceiling, blank eyes open, his whole body heavy - too heavy and tired to even blink.

Blaine felt effervescent - amazingly high. He giggled again, his chest heaving as it turned into a cough. His giggles rebounded. He began to enjoy the effect of giggling into blurry space and hearing it return to him, oddly cloned and twisted. Blaine saw blurred images gather around him, swaying slightly. He reached his hand out toward them, but they seemed to bob away like balloons playing on a breeze.

Suddenly, from out of the fog, a single image became clear. Kurt stood over him, hands on hips, his lips twisted into an amused smirk.

One of the fuzzy hallucinations came closer.

“Mr. Humble,” the hallucination said with a, frankly, adorable lisp, “your friend fell down.”

“I know, Jonathan,” Kurt replied, “but I’m sure he’ll be alright.”

“What should we do with him?” another blur with bright red hair asked.

“Should we call an am’blance?” asked an identical blur standing beside it.

Kurt peered at Blaine more closely. Blaine blinked, eyes fighting to focus on the images that swam in front of him, but the effort made him spectacularly nauseous, so he decided to close his eyes and rest his head back on the floor beneath him.

“Nah,” Kurt said to the class of nervous kids. “He’ll be fine. Just try not to trip on him.”

The kids giggled and joked, wandering back to their spots on the workout room floor, but Kurt stayed behind, tsk-tsking as he looked down at his exhausted sub.

“Really, princess,” Kurt commented out of earshot of the children, looking down at Blaine in mock disgust. “This is a Zumba class for four- to six-year-olds, and you can’t keep up?”

Blaine moaned in reply, hoping for pity, but Kurt shook his head. Blaine wanted to say something witty, to come up with a compelling defense, but the power of speech no longer belonged to him. He gave up. With a sigh, he rolled onto his stomach, pressing his cheek to the cool floor. Another low moan later, he succumbed to sleep. Kurt chuckled when he saw Blaine’s breathing even out.

“We have a lot of work to do, sweetheart,” Kurt said mischievously. “A _lot_ of work.” He pressed a kiss to his fingertips, and pressed his fingertips to Blaine’s cheek. Then he straightened and turned back to his class.

“Okay, kids. From the top, and avoid the sleeping man on the floor. Five, six, seven, eight…”

 


	11. The Perfect Promise

**A/N:** _This is a future fic for today's Klaine Advent Prompt - Gift. Rated G. It features Dave and Blaine taking a special shopping excursion._

 

It was late, and it was getting cold - colder than usual for an L.A. evening, especially in the summer. Dave tagged along behind Blaine from store to store for the past seven hours with no luck. The trendiest jewelers and boutiques from West Hollywood to Beverly Hills had nothing unique, nothing special, nothing that would come close to being anywhere near perfect for Kurt.

Dave sighed, sympathetic _and_ extremely exhausted, as he watched his frantic friend dash from glass case to glass case, exasperated, with seemingly no hope in sight.

Blaine Anderson - super suave, charming, up-and-coming rock star Blaine Anderson – normally the picture of calm and composure, looked so close to combusting that Dave had started standing at a safe distance. Saleswomen at every store they went to tripped over themselves like lovesick teenagers to help Blaine find what he was searching for, and every time they failed, they looked utterly deflated. Every woman wanted Blaine, and since they knew they couldn’t have him, being the one to help him choose the most important purchase of his life might be the next best thing. But Blaine didn’t care about their hurt feelings. He didn’t care about the fans who gawked openly at his frustration, or the paparazzi who showed up in droves to get photographic proof of what entertainment mags all over had long suspected.

Blaine Anderson would soon be, well and truly, “off the market”.

Dave watched Blaine sift through ring after ring after ring, photogs getting so bold that they came up right next to him to snap his picture. At one point, Blaine asked one for an opinion, not realizing that the man hovering beside him wasn’t Dave. Dave sighed, pushing the photographer aside to offer his two-cents, which was, “That one’s nice, but I think you and I both know it’s not Kurt.” Blaine groaned a pathetic, “You’re right,” as he dropped his head to the glass. Dave’s heart hurt for the man, this best friend of his that he never actually wanted.

Blaine had reached his wits’ end. Their last stop was Tiffany’s – Kurt’s fantasy, the Alexander McQueen of jewelry stores - and still Blaine found nothing. He gazed desperately in the last case – the absolute and final case of men’s rings – his eyes bloodshot, his hair a bedraggled mop, while a perky, strawberry blonde saleswoman leaned provocatively over the glass, watching Blaine with an unashamed, lustful stare. Dave rolled his eyes.

 _‘Classy,’_ he thought with a grimace. ‘ _Shopping for an engagement ring and the poor man still can’t catch a break.’_

Dave intercepted his frazzled friend, giving a stern nod to the salesperson, silently dismissing the woman, who obnoxiously sidled to the side a grand total of a foot. Dave held Blaine by the upper arms and met his gaze.

“Blaine,” Dave said evenly, “you have to calm down.”

Blaine swallowed hard, shaking his head, sending his mass of unchecked curls flying.

“We’re in Tiffany’s, Dave. TIFFANY’S for fuck’s sake!” Blaine reached up and tugged at handfuls of his own hair, the way he did every time they failed for the past hour. “If I can’t find something perfect here…”

“Blaine…relax.”

“No,” Blaine muttered, “you don’t understand.” Blaine looked panicked. “I can’t find it. It doesn’t exist! The perfect ring for Kurt doesn’t exist!”

“Blaine…”

“I’ve checked everywhere, Dave!” Blaine whined, on the verge of hyperventilating. “Every jewelry store in L.A.! Every online store! Website after website for artisans in Europe, and…and…I just can’t find it!”

“Blaine…” Dave wasn’t a fan of hysterics, but at least he was used to them by now, “it doesn’t have to be _perfect_ …”

“Yes!” This time Blaine almost screamed. “Yes, Dave! It _does_ have to be perfect! Don’t you understand? It’s not just a gift, Dave! It’s more than a gift! It’s a promise!”

Dave rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t shove away the smile on his face.

 _‘Actors,’_ he thought. _‘So much drama.’_ Dave thanked the stars above that he would be representing athletes, though he had to admit that sometimes there wasn’t much difference. He was only an intern, not yet an agent, and he had already been privy to quite a few diva tantrums.

“Okay,” Dave said, putting an arm around Blaine and leading him out of the store, the busty clerk huffing behind them, “you need to listen to me for just a moment, okay?”

Blaine nodded. “Okay.”

Dave walked Blaine through the door, past more gawking fans and photographers, down the sidewalk to where Blaine’s sports car was parked.

“I think you’re right,” Dave said slowly. “I think the perfect ring for Kurt _doesn’t_ exist…”

Blaine stopped walking, turning on Dave with a look of complete betrayal. Dave held up a hand to silence him before he could cry or scream again.

“…yet, Anderson. The perfect ring doesn’t exist _yet_.”

“So, what are you saying, Karofsky?” Blaine said, mocking Dave’s usage of his last name.

“I’m saying…” Dave continued, nonplussed by his stressed out friend’s reaction, “that you’re a creative man. Design one yourself.”

Blaine stared at Dave like Dave had suggested the most ludicrous plan ever devised.

“I _write songs_ , Dave,” Blaine said, sounding far beyond distraught. “I don’t _design rings_.”

“Why not?” Dave asked with a shrug, recalling the jacket he himself had tried to design for Kurt a while back, when they first started living together with the kids and Kurt had to sell off his designer suits. It was heartbreaking, but it couldn’t be helped. It was either his suits or the rent. Designing that jacket was going to be Dave’s grand gesture, to show Kurt how much he cared about him, how much he’d changed. But it turned out to be harder than Dave thought. He never finished. He shoved it under his side of the bed and promptly forgot about it until Eva went snooping around and found it. Kurt thought _she_ had designed it (yes, it was _that_ rough). Kurt smiled his genuine, non-condescending smile for her, and told her it showed real promise. Dave wished he’d had the courage to show it to Kurt himself, always wondering if his reaction would have been the same. Knowing Kurt, it would have been. “And if you think you need help, well, you surround yourself with creative types every day. Get one of them to lend you a hand.”

Blaine quietly considered Dave’s suggestion, still with an expression of, “You’re insane!” in his eyes, then all at once his face lit up.

“Dave!” Blaine exclaimed with surprise and relief. “That’s…that’s an _amazing_ idea!” Then his brows shot up higher, disappearing in the curls cascading over his forehead. “And I know _exactly_ who I’m going to go to first for help.”

Blaine giggled maniacally as he unlocked the car doors, stopping a second to pose for one last ridiculous paparazzi photograph while Dave fought for the thirtieth time to squeeze himself inside the cramped car, wondering, as he did so many times, what would his life be like without the excitement of Blaine Anderson.

 


	12. An Amazing Gift

**A/N:** _This is a future one-shot for the Klaine Advent prompt for day 7 - 'Gift'. I'm rating this PG, but warnings for blood born illnesses and treatment. Very angsty, featuring two unsung characters from my fiction - Elphaba and Hunter._

_I am not a doctor, but this story is based off a real life situation that happened to the child of a friend, and I have written the medical portion as close to exactly as it happened._

 

Kurt bit into his fist to keep from crying for the hundredth time.

He didn’t understand how he could have missed it.

When the fevers and the chills manifested, Kurt just assumed Finn had the flu, until he was helping change Finn’s sweat soaked shirt and saw it.

A cut, no bigger than a fingernail scratch really, that became infected. The infection was kept hidden. A hidden illness had grown and taken over.

Now, Finn – beautiful, wonderful, athletic Finn – lay on a bed in the ICU, pale and septic.

A staph infection, most likely contracted from rough housing on the filthy mat at the Boys’ and Girls’ Club he liked to play at with his friends after school. Kurt always made such a fuss over scratches and scrapes, Finn probably just decided to save himself the trouble and ignore this one.

It was easy for Kurt to get pissed at Finn for just a minute – for putting his life in danger, for putting his sisters’ lives in danger - but that anger didn’t last long. It was shoved away by fear and guilt.

Another child in the hospital.

Another failure as a parent.

This, however, was different from when little Eva had broken her leg.

They could actually lose Finn.

Finn – with his father’s eyes, and nose, and gullible, easy going nature, but all of his mother’s ruthless ambition.

Kurt couldn’t lose Finn.

Of all of the children, Finn was the most like his parents.

It would be like losing them all over again.

Abscesses had formed, and had to be surgically drained. Doctors told them that Finn was young, and he should come through just fine.

The staph, though life threatening, turned out to be a blessing, a road sign that led them to another problem – an underlying blood infection that preceded the staph infection, probably by only a few hours, but was much more dangerous. It, too, could be cured, but would require a blood transfusion…and fast.

Blood from a family member was highly recommended, but since only two of his younger sisters fit the bill (little Eva being incapable due to her own regimen of medications), everyone stepped up to the plate.

The small group gathered in record time – Kurt, Dave, Blaine, and Adam of course. Hunter, Nick, and Jeff as well. Even Thad came in to be tested. Unfortunately, none of them even came close.

Finn had a rare blood type, AB negative, compounded by very specific genetic markers, which in this case couldn’t be ignored.

He shared this trait with only a single other member of his family – little Elphaba.

Kurt and Dave found themselves caught in a bind. Kurt’s knee jerk reaction was a definite ‘no’. Dave agreed, wanting to vehemently refuse.

“She’s too young!” Kurt argued. “And so small for her age. There’s no way she could donate. There has to be another way.”

“Yes,” the doctor agreed, “she is young, and in most cases we wouldn’t even consider a transfusion from her, but the fact of the matter is this is an emergency situation. We could take a chance with an anonymous donor, but we don’t have any AB negative blood on hand. We’d have to get some sent from another hospital. Locating it and transporting it would take time we don’t want to spare.”

Kurt sighed, dropping his head in his hands, shaking gently. Dave put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly while simultaneously wanting to fall to pieces.

“She’s a perfect match,” the doctor explained quietly. “Her blood would pretty much ensure that the treatment would be an overwhelming success. We don’t need much, and we won’t put her in any unnecessary danger. I promise.”

Kurt agreed, but he refused to make the decision for her, no matter what. Even though she was only six years old, Kurt and Dave sat the little girl down and tried their best to explain the severity of the situation in a way a child her age would understand.

“So, I have to give him my blood?” she asked, wide eyed and more than a little frightened. “Like a gift?”

“Yes,” Kurt said sadly, “a very important gift. Without it, sweetie, well, I don’t know…”

Elphaba’s breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, baby.” Dave wrapped comforting arms around her. “If you don’t want to do it, we’ll still do everything we can for your brother, I promise.”

Elphaba was confused. She couldn’t understand why Kurt and Dave would chose her brother over her, but she loved Finn, and if this special gift would make him better, she would give it. Elphaba thought for just a moment, before looking at her uncles with wide, watery eyes and agreed.

“Do you want me to stay and hold your hand, baby?” Kurt asked, trying to be brave for his little girl.

Elphaba’s lips quivered as she watched a nurse with Dora the Explorer scrubs carry a tiny kidney shaped container with needles and tiny packets of alcohol and set it on a table beside her.

“W-would it be okay if Hunter held my hand?”

 

* * *

 

Hunter pulled a stool up beside Elphaba’s chair, and the girl immediately laced her delicate fingers between his. He saw the little girl’s eyes watering as she courageously held back tears. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers.

“You know,” he whispered, “you can cry if you want to.”

Elphaba sniffled as the nurse took the girl’s arm.

“No,” she said in a small, trembling voice. “Everyone else is being brave. I’m going to be brave, too.”

Hunter nodded, putting a comforting hand on her head of wavy cinnamon colored hair.

Elphaba started to pant nervously as she felt the nurse rub along her arm with the cold alcohol.

“What would you like to do while you’re here?” Hunter asked, trying to distract the girl. “I brought my iPad. We could play a game, or watch some cartoons. I could read you a book.”

Elphaba nodded, and then suddenly sucked in a sharp breath as the nurse carefully stuck the thin needle into the girl’s arm.

“Owie, owie, owie, owie, owie…” the poor girl chanted.

“It’s okay, doll face,” Hunter cooed. “Shhh, it’s going to be okay…” Elphaba couldn’t hear him, and Hunter bit his lip, praying that he could be brave enough himself not to cry.

Being so young and so small, they took Elphaba’s blood over a long period of time. Hunter did his best to keep the girl occupied, with stories, and games, and knock-knock jokes, but even though everything was going smoothly, Elphaba seemed unspeakably depressed. When the nurse came back, smiling warmly, removing the needle and putting gauze and a bright pink wrap around her arm, Elphaba seemed even more upset.

“There you go,” Hunter said with a smile. “You’re all done.”

Elphaba looked down in her lap and started to cry.

“Oh, sweetheart. Baby.” Hunter took the small girl in his arms. “It’s all over now. Finn’s going to be just fine because of you. You’re a hero.”

Elphaba nodded sadly.

“So, what’s the problem, angel?”

Elphaba could barely speak, but still managed to ask, “How much time do I have left?”

Hunter’s brow knit in confusion as he looked at the little girl.

“What do you mean? We just have to sit here for a bit and wait for the doctor to make sure you’re okay, and then we can go.”

“No.” Elphaba shook her head. “How long do I have till I die?”

Hunter sat straight up with shock at her question.

“Honey…” Hunter picked the girl up off the chair and cradled her in his arms. “Why do you think that you’re going to die?”

“Be-because I gave Finn all of my blood,” she sobbed. “And I know that you can’t live without blood, so…”

Hunter wrapped his arms around the little girl and rocked her soothingly, burying his face into her strawberry scented hair, and this time he couldn’t help crying.

  

* * *

 

 

“I’m such an idiot!” Kurt hissed as he left Elphaba’s room. After Hunter told Kurt and Dave about his conversation with Elphaba, the whole group made it their mission to lavish her with extra love and attention. Hunter spent the afternoon with her, reading all of her favorite books until he knew them by heart. Kurt made cupcakes for dinner. Blaine and Nick took her out shopping and bought her a new dress. By the time Elphaba went to bed, Kurt had never seen a smile so big on the little girl’s face.

It made his heart break even more.

“It never dawned on me,” Dave admitted as he leaned against Adam, holding tight to the other man’s hand, “to explain just how much they would take, or that her body would make the blood back.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Adam held Dave close, Dave leaning his head on Adam’s shoulder. “You were worried about Finn.”

“That’s a reason, not an excuse.” Kurt dropped down on the couch beside Blaine, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration. Blaine put an arm around Kurt’s shoulders and held him close.

“We’d better get some sleep.” Blaine kissed Kurt on the top of the head. “We have to relieve Nick and Jeff from bed sitting duty at the hospital in five hours.”

Kurt nodded, waving at Dave, Adam, and Hunter, still sitting on the couch.

“I think we’d better pack it in, too,” Adam said. “We have the shift right after theirs.”

“Yup.”

Adam stood, taking Dave’s hand and pulling him up with him.

“Uh, if you guys don’t mind, can I crash on your couch?” Hunter asked. “I cleared my calendar for tomorrow and I’d kind of like to be here when Elphie wakes up.”

Blaine chuckled. Barely anyone used the nickname he had made up for Elphaba so long ago.

“Of course,” Kurt said, turning to the linen closet outside his bedroom door and fetching out a pillow and some blankets.

Blaine smirked at Dave who was looking back at him with a knowing look.

“You really like her, don’t you?” Adam asked.

“I admire her very much,” Hunter admitted, taking the pillow and blankets from Kurt with a grateful nod. “She did an amazing thing today. She thought she was giving up her life for her brother. That’s an amazing gift.”


	13. The Harmony of Fire, Ice or Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After hearing Blaine arguing Pokemon with Finn, Jr., Kurt thinks up an interesting session for his sub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like this one-shot because it illustrates what can happen when a sub is nervous and a scene doesn’t go exactly as planned - alterations that are made, considerations, communication, etc.
> 
> This is a future fic inspired by the Klaine Advent Drabble Day 9 Prompt "Ice". Rated Explicit. Basically just smut for smut's sake. Warnings for ice play, heat play, light electrical play, oral sex, and hair pulling.

_Disturb not the harmony of fire, ice or lightning, lest these titans wreak destruction upon the world in which they clash. Though the water's great guardian shall arise to quell the fighting, alone its song will fail, and thus the earth shall turn to ash. O Chosen One, into thine hands bring together all three. Their treasures combined tame the Beast of the Sea._

-          _Shamouti Prophecy_

Kurt rubbed his stiff and sore right shoulder, rolling the joint in its socket as he made his way through the backyard from his design studio up to the house. He hadn't even made it to the bottom of the steps when he heard heated arguing coming from the living room.

"No, no, no!" Blaine said emphatically. "It's fire, ice and _lightning_ , not fire, ice and water!"

"I swear…" Finn started, but Blaine interrupted.

"That doesn't even make any sense!" As he approached the patio doors, Kurt could see Blaine through the glass, marking off on his fingers. "Articuno is the guardian of ice, Moltres is the guardian of fire, and Zapdos…hello! _Zap_ dos is the guardian of _lightning_!"

Finn stared at Blaine wide eyed, his jaw dropped an inch, his Nintendo DS clutched in both hands, the handheld game system playing a repetitive strain of urgent sounding music.

"You are so weird, Uncle Blaine," Finn said with a condescending shake of his head. Kurt smiled. In so many ways, Finn resembled his father to a T, but that little head shake, that was all Rachel.

Blaine chirped out a mocking laugh, humming a happy victory song and doing a dance of triumph as the boy walked off, completely nonplussed, to his bedroom. Absorbed in his childish display of celebration, Blaine didn't notice when Kurt walked into the house, but his head popped up at the sound of the patio door clicking shut. He stopped mid-dance, frozen in a ridiculous pose as Kurt stared, a devilish glint in his blue eyes.

"Blaine? Really?" Kurt tutted, trying not to smile in case it encouraged his boyfriend. "Arguing Pokemon with a child?"

Blaine tried to answer, but mostly succeeded in sputtering like a car trying to start.

"But…but he started it!" Blaine argued. Both men heard a bark of laughter come from behind Finn's closed bedroom door.

"Yeah, well, I think I'm going to finish it," Kurt said, crooking a finger at Blaine, beckoning him to follow.

Kurt led Blaine back out the patio door in the direction of his studio. He unlocked the door and held it open, gesturing for Blaine to walk inside. Kurt followed, shutting and locking the door behind him.

"Clothes off, princess," Kurt said, his voice a hard, chill breeze in the slightly heated room, "and you know how I want you. Your little argument gave me an idea."

Blaine obediently stripped off his clothes, laying jeans, shirt, and underwear on the chair in his recording space. When he stepped back out, Kurt was gone, in the bathroom, getting himself prepared for their scene. Blaine took his place, kneeling on the floor at the foot of the futon, hands on his knees, eyes downcast. For the first time in a long while, Blaine felt anxious about whatever Kurt had in store.

He thought over Kurt's last comment as he knelt, trying to find his proper head space. Something about his and Finn's argument had inspired Kurt.

He had been inspired by the idea of fire, ice, and lightning.

Blaine swallowed hard. Nothing about those three things sounded even remotely erotic to Blaine.

The click of Kurt's stiletto boots against the floor snapped Blaine from his thoughts. He found himself trembling as the sound came closer and closer. Kurt looked down at his sub and felt his heart sink just a bit. Blaine actually looked afraid. He didn't think trust would be an issue at this point, or maybe it had been too long since Kurt had completely asserted his control.

"Now, now, sweetheart," Kurt said soothingly. "There's nothing to worry about. I promise this is going to be fun."

Blaine tried to stop his trembling, but the effort only seemed to make him shake harder.

"You remember the safe word, right?" Kurt asked.

Blaine sat still, staying as motionless as he could manage.

"You may respond," Kurt said in response to Blaine's practiced silence.

"Yes, I do," Blaine said.

Kurt nodded to himself as he appraised his sub – so beautiful, so obedient. Kurt walked around the room and gathered a few items, setting them on the futon mattress out of Blaine's sight.

Kurt decided to shock Blaine into responding. It would make punishing him that much easier, and maybe, just maybe, the act of being disciplined would refocus Blaine, make him less nervous. Kurt pounced on Blaine like a cat, sinful black vinyl pants and tank hugging his body, adhering to every inch of him like paint poured over his skin. He pushed Blaine down by his shoulders till he lay flat on his back on the wood floor. He looked into Blaine's face, his sub's eyes open and empty. He wound his fingers into Blaine's hair and tugged sharply, but Blaine didn't react, didn't flinch, didn't hiss – a perfect sub.

 _Kurt's_ perfect sub.

Kurt pinched his lower lip between his teeth while he thought this session over. He picked up a black taper candle and a lighter from the mattress, and held them up where Blaine could see them.

"We've done quite a bit of experimentation with sensory deprivation," Kurt said, flicking the lighter on, "and sensory overload. How about we try some sensory stimulation?"

Blaine's eyes became wider as he watched Kurt light the candle, holding it sideways over his chest. Kurt lit it at the tip of the virgin wick and the orange flame traveled quickly to the wax. Anticipation built layer by layer inside Blaine as he waited, his muscles quivering as a small drop of wax began to form, becoming heavier and heavier as the candle melted. Blaine braced himself silently, struggling to give no outward indication of his fear.

But Kurt noticed. Kurt knew his sub. He knew his lover. He watched the anxiety gather in Blaine's swiftly dilating eyes.

The drop of wax hung heavy off the tip of the candle, shaking precariously with every breath Kurt took. Blaine gasped when it broke free of the taper and fell.

Kurt intercepted it, letting the drop land on the back of his hand. Kurt hissed when the hot wax made contact with his skin, but moaned with pleasure when it quickly cooled. He shivered and Blaine, trapped beneath his Dom's body, felt Kurt's cock twitch in the confines of his tight vinyl pants.

Kurt's reaction to the hot wax fascinated Blaine. Finding pleasure through pain was Kurt's fetish, and Blaine wanted to learn to appreciate it the way Kurt did.

Suddenly, the thought of the wax excited him. He wanted it. He wanted to feel the way Kurt felt when it touched him.

This time when Kurt looked into Blaine's eyes, they burned a lustful molten-gold. Kurt smiled.

"Do you want that, sweetheart?" Kurt asked. "Is that what you want?"

Blaine swallowed, but said nothing.

A second drop of hot wax had formed while Blaine's attention was drawn to Kurt's reaction. The drop fell unexpectedly and hit Blaine's chest. He clenched his teeth at the first impact of intense heat on his skin, but that heat cooled as the wax dried. It should hurt. Something in his head registered that logically hot wax should be painful. It did sting a bit, but the more Kurt drizzled the wax over Blaine's skin, the more the sensation of heat punctuated by cool sent bizarre tingles, like the pricking of needles, over his skin. That alone probably wouldn't have made him hard without Kurt's vinyl clad body pressed against him, a hungry fire burning through the ice of his Dom's startling blue eyes.

"I think that's enough fire for now," Kurt said, licking his fingertips suggestively with long swipes of his tongue and using the wet digits to snuff out the flame. He set the candle and the lighter aside and without giving Blaine a chance to imagine what might come next, Kurt grabbed a handful of ice and pressed it to Blaine's chest.

Blaine's body responded without his permission, his head tossed back as he moaned. He longed to rut up against Kurt's body, but he was more than sure he had just committed a punishable offense by his reaction. He didn't want to complicate matters too much.

Kurt pressed the ice into Blaine's skin until it melted completely. Kurt remembered this from one of their first encounters together – no, _the_ first encounter, the one where Blaine stole his heart and hadn't returned it since. He held the ice to Blaine's chest until his skin burned with the cold, watching it dissolve and the water run in thin rivers down Blaine's skin.

"Well, well, princess…" Kurt shifted his weight and Blaine lifted his head, his hazel eyes almost black with desire, "that was fire and ice. Now how about lightning?"

In a blink, Blaine's face became rigid again.

He had forgotten the lightning.

Kurt smirked at the subtle change in Blaine's expression. He reached out a hand and pulled something off the bed that looked like a tennis racket. He held it close to Blaine's ear and pressed a button on the handle, switching the device on. Blaine could hear a slight electrical hum. He felt the hairs on his head prickle, moving toward the racket, attracted like a magnet.

"I picked this up to take care of any pesky flies that might dare come in here," Kurt explained, savoring Blaine's reaction to the low dose of electricity crackling close to his skin. He had no intention of hurting Blaine, but maybe through exposure Blaine might come to enjoy this, too.

Kurt would watch Blaine closely and see.

"Now let me think..." Kurt looked down over Blaine's prone body. "What have we been neglecting? Ah! I have an idea."

Kurt stood, pulling Blaine up with him, fingers coiled in his sub's hair, tugging him up by his curls.

"Hands on your knees," Kurt commanded. He pushed Blaine on the shoulder till his sub bent at the waist, leaning low over the futon, hands gripping his knees, his rear end on display. Kurt held the electrified racket an inch from Blaine's body, close enough that he could experience the same sensation of crackling electricity on the skin of his ass. Kurt brought the racket back and smacked Blaine lightly. Kurt's cock throbbed at the slight sizzling sound the racket made on contact and the yelp that Blaine couldn't contain.

"Mmmm," Kurt hummed. He saw Blaine's fingertips twitch, his sub itching to reach down and claw at the mattress, the alluring flutter of muscles down his spine as his ass clenched with the hit. Kurt's body ached to claim him, and he winced with the strained bob of his own erection. "It looks like someone might like that."

Blaine hated to admit that he did. He liked it more than he thought he should. He waited for another smack, wanted to scream for Kurt to hurry up, and that's when he knew he needed to try harder to calm his mind. The next hit came when Blaine least expected it, as it always did. He bit his lip to keep from yelping again. He didn't cry out, but the smack sent him forward.

The next hit, this time to his cock, sent him back.

Blaine groaned. The electricity from the racket making contact with his sensitive erection ignited every nerve before his body went momentarily numb. His muscles trembled, his teeth clamped together hard, and he almost came.

Kurt laughed – a wickedly adorable high-pitched giggle.

Blaine's black swan was enjoying himself.

Blaine wanted to smile. He missed being played with.

Kurt loved Blaine's obedience. He loved how sensitive his body was to stimuli, and how hard Blaine worked to suppress his reactions. Kurt could toy with Blaine for hours if he wanted. He could shove a metal dildo up his sub's ass and spank him with his electric racket until his muscles vibrated and he came over and over. Kurt knew that at the right angle and in the right spot, the electricity would travel along Blaine's nerve endings, hitting him deep inside, and Blaine would have to cum whether he wanted to or not.

The idea made Kurt practically salivate.

An experiment for another time, though.

He had put his anxious sub through enough. Kurt felt it was time for Blaine to receive a reward.

"Very good, sweetheart," Kurt cooed. "You did so well. I think it's time I give you something for being such a good boy." Kurt pushed Blaine forward, a silent signal for him to lie down. "On to your back, love."

Blaine moved stiffly, reacquainting himself with nerves and muscles that hadn't returned yet from their temporary vacation. Kurt climbed over Blaine, slinking slowly, each feline movement taking Blaine's breath away. Blaine couldn't remember the last time his Dom looked this delicious, clothed in an armor of slick black material that clung hella tight and defined every muscle in his body, but most especially the prominent outline of his cock, which pressed against the inside of his vinyl pants. Blaine licked his lips as he stared, wanting to devour his Dom, to make Kurt cum down his throat and scream his name.

"Another time, sweetheart," Kurt said, interpreting Blaine's gaze. "Now, tell me, my love, and you may respond…which do you prefer – fire, ice, or lightning?"

"Ice," Blaine answered quickly, the skin of his ass still tingling from where the electric paddle hit him. "I…I like the ice."

"Alright, sweetheart," Kurt said, climbing off the bed to retrieve the bowl of ice and set it on the table beside them, "but in order to best appreciate the ice, you need the fire."

Blaine's eyes immediately darted left and right in search of the candle. Kurt grinned sweetly.

"Oh, we're not going to use the candle, my love." Kurt walked over to his cutting table where he had earlier set a personal cup warmer and a mug of tea. He had turned the warmer off when he left the studio, but the tea was still hot. He brought the mug to the bedside table and set it down carefully. Blaine could see steam rising from the liquid inside. He eyed the cup with apprehension and confusion. Kurt saw the flash of emotion in Blaine's eyes. He leaned over his sub.

"In all this time, my love," Kurt whispered, his lips hovering above his sub's mouth, "don't you trust me?"

Kurt pulled back and looked into Blaine's face, proud of his sub for having the discipline to not respond without being told.

"I don't want to hurt you," Kurt whispered. "I never want to hurt you."

Blaine didn't understand his own reaction to this. His inner sub trusted his Dom. He took a moment to remember everything they'd done together, all the time Kurt had put in to helping him with his issues, even going so far as to switch for him.

Kurt loved Blaine.

Blaine loved Kurt.

In that love lay all of Blaine's trust.

Kurt had never betrayed Blaine's trust.

Blaine's muscles relaxed of their own accord at this realization, his body becoming pliant, willing as his spirit, accepting as his heart.

Kurt took a long sip from the steaming cup of tea, swallowing it and keeping his mouth shut. He sank down over Blaine's cock, engulfing his sensitive member in intense heat.

Blaine's eyes squeezed tight at the sensation of too much heat, but Kurt sucked in a cube of ice and the whole world tunneled into a single stream – the Arctic chill that surrounded him, blanketing his length.

"Holy fuck, Kurt!" Blaine screamed.

Kurt's head reared up, a playful scowl on his face.

"Now, now, princess," Kurt purred, "none of that. No more outbursts from now on."

Blaine settled back down against the mattress and closed his eyes, waiting for the next assault.

Silence - no sound except the breeze blowing outside the windows, rustling the leaves on the tree, moving the swing that hung from its branch, the thick, weathered rope creaking.

Then all at once, he felt heat, overpowering warmth in the sheath of Kurt's wet mouth. Without a chance to adjust to the sensation of fire, he got the ice – an exceptionally cold sliver sliding slowly down his length with the aid of Kurt's tongue. Blaine bit his lip, wanting to buck, needing to scream.

Kurt stopped. There was something not quite right with Blaine's reaction.

"How do you feel?" Kurt asked, feeling his sub's distress radiate off him. "You may respond."

"It's too much," Blaine breathed out, as if he had been holding his breath this whole time. "Kurt, please…it's too…it's too much."

"Do you want to safe word, sweetheart?" Kurt asked, offering something he rarely had to openly offer, though Blaine knew it was always there for him.

Blaine's panting slowed, his breaths becoming even while he concentrated on taking air in and out, in and out, to calm his mind. He felt sparks light across his body as the cool air heated his confused and sensitive skin.

"No," Blaine growled. He had never used their safe word before and he wasn't going to start now, especially when he was so close. "No…I want more…"

Kurt's grin filled Blaine with all the stamina he would need to see this through to the end.

"Good boy," his Dom praised, allowing Blaine this moment to rest – this quiet before the storm.

Kurt counted down from ten in his head, waiting till Blaine had fully recovered, then took Blaine's cock in his mouth, a constant shifting bath of heat and cold washing over him so rapidly he couldn't even tell them apart after a while. It flushed around him like an ever-changing tide, and when he came down Kurt's throat, it wasn't the end for him - not even close.

The torment, the punishing sensory stimulation, made Blaine hunger for more.

Kurt climbed up Blaine's body to check on his sub and Blaine lunged at him. He pinned Kurt to the mattress, knowing full well he didn't have any control. Not really. He only had the control Kurt allowed him and that was fine by Blaine. Blaine preferred it that way.

Kurt loved him. Kurt would let him play.

"I figured turn-about is fair play," Blaine said, peeling the vinyl tank from Kurt's torso, grinning deviously at his Dom's unmarked alabaster skin.

 _'Not for long,'_ Blaine thought slyly.

"So, what do you plan on doing with me," Kurt asked, unable to hide his amusement, "now that you have me here?"

"I have some ideas. But first, I was wondering," Blaine said, tracing a finger down Kurt's sternum, "which do _you_ prefer? Fire, ice…or lightning?"

Blaine leaned over his Dom. He knew the answer but he wanted to hear it spoken from Kurt's perfect defilable mouth.

Kurt fixed the full force of his silver-grey eyes on Blaine and said with quiet power, "I prefer the _fire_."

 


	14. Saw Movie Marathon

**A/N:** _This is inspired by the Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge prompt day 10 - "Jigsaw". Rated PG._

 

 

“Tell me what the point of this movie is again?” Kurt asked, watching the picture on the flat screen TV mostly through the space between his fingers.

The kids had been asleep for hours. Bowls of popcorn sat, virtually untouched. The lights had been lowered. The quiet house set the perfect stage for the movies Blaine and Dave had chosen for their Friday night movie marathon. Three couples sat on the wrap-around sofa, engrossed in the horror feature they had selected. Well, two couples. Nick and Jeff, who had become a permanent feature in their lives and on their couch, were a little too engrossed in each other to even register a movie was even on…or other people in the room, for that matter.

Adam and Dave snuggled close together on one end of the couch, with Blaine and Kurt on the opposite end.

Adam leapt into Dave’s lap almost every five minutes.

“I have to agree.” Adam turned his head and buried it into Dave’s neck. His next response came out muffled since he still had his face buried in Dave’s shirt collar. “I’m not sure I understand why you guys chose this particular film series.”

“What I don’t get…” Kurt said, nails raking down Blaine’s leg as he tried to watch, finally giving up and burying his head into Blaine’s shirt as well, “…is why this Jigsaw guy seems to think he has the right to do this to these people. So, they’re assholes? So what!? That doesn’t mean…”

Kurt’s argument cut off completely when all four men groaned at a particularly gruesome moment. This time, Adam’s face was buried in Dave’s lap, and Kurt had pretty much climbed Blaine’s torso like a koala in a Eucalyptus tree.

Dave and Blaine, matching smirks on their faces, turned to each other, giving each other a nod and a thumbs-up.

Horror movie marathon success.


	15. A Message Ill-Received

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dom Kurt tries to make time with his sub, Blaine, but he gets played by the kids…with the help of Jeff, Nick, and Hunter.
> 
> Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompt "message". Humor and smut. Rated NC-17.

“Oh, yes, Blaine!...God, Blaine!...Christ, I love making love to you, Blaine…”

Kurt had craved his beautiful sub all day, not for domination, but for body worship - slow, passionate, sensual - with all of the romantic bells and whistles attached – massage oil, scented candles, a bottle of champagne (it was past five in the afternoon so Kurt decided they could get away with one glass apiece), and a dish of strawberries with melted chocolate (for energy between rounds, Kurt explained, and Blaine was more than on board with that plan).

At around 4:30, Kurt thought they might have to postpone their afternoon romp, seeing as Dave had gotten stuck in traffic and wouldn’t be home to help occupy the kids.

Kurt loved making love to Blaine with the golden light of sunset streaming in through the windows, warming their skin, painting their bodies, but he would wait if he absolutely had to…

…but he _really_ didn’t want to wait.

As luck would have it, Nick, Jeff, and Hunter stopped by unannounced, which they often did to hang-out, eat Kurt’s cooking, and play with the kids.

For Kurt, they showed up at just the right time.

It seemed like the stars had aligned and Kurt jumped at the opportunity.

When Kurt’s bedroom door was closed and locked, it was a blaring message to everyone to _stay_ _away_ (unless someone was bleeding, but even that was negligible) but for some reason the subject of dinner had become a life or death issue, and a different child every five minutes found the need to knock on the door.

It started with Finn.

“Yes, Blaine,” Kurt moaned, “that’s it! Oh, God, touch me. Touch me right…”

_Knock, knock, knock._

Kurt’s head popped up at the sharp rapping sound.

“What is it?” he sang out, keeping his voice pleasant despite his urge to throttle someone.

“Uncle Kurt? Can we order a pizza?”

Kurt sighed from his frozen stance above Blaine’s body, their hard cocks resting together, Blaine’s fingers dancing dangerously close to Kurt’s entrance.

“No, Finn,” Kurt replied calmly. “We’re having a vegetarian Chop Suey. We’re going to make it together as a family. It’ll be _fun_.”

Blaine thought that the way Kurt emphasized the word _fun_ through clenched teeth didn’t make it sound like it was going to be fun.

“Ewww,” Finn groaned, sulking when he walked away from the door.

Blaine chuckled, seguing out of the interruption by slowly slipping his fingers into Kurt’s body, hoping to make Kurt forget about the kids for a while. Kurt threw his head back and moaned.

“God, yes!” Kurt sighed, fucking himself on Blaine’s fingers. “Just like that, Blaine, baby…I…”

_Knock, knock, knock._

“Yes?” Kurt snapped through gritted teeth.

“Who’s Chuck Suzy?” Barbra asked this time.

“What?” Kurt asked while Blaine stilled his fingers and stifled another laugh.

“Chuck Suzy,” her sweet voice repeated. “You said he was coming to dinner.”

“Not Chuck Suzy,” Kurt growled, a little less patient than when Finn had knocked on the door. “ _Chop_ _Suey_. It’s what we’re having for dinner.”

“Oh.” Barbra’s voice sounded thick with disappointment. “Yuck.”

Kurt decided to take things up a notch, sliding roughly against Blaine’s body, bucking back harder against his fingers as they turned, scissored, seeking and then finding, brushing in slow, gentle circles over Kurt’s favorite spot.

“Oh, yes,” Kurt cried, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Right there! Please, don’t stop, don’t…”

_Knock, knock, knock._

“What!?” Kurt roared and this time Blaine _did_ laugh, biting his fist while his body shook.

They heard Finn’s voice again, not at all affected by Kurt’s near-murderous yell.

“Does Chop Suey have tofu in it?” Finn asked. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m allergic…”

“Holy…hell!” Kurt screamed, biting his lip in order to keep from adding the word _fuck_ somewhere in the middle. “Order the gall-darned pizza already!!”

There was a pause, a moment of blessed silence, and then Finn replied, “Well, okay. If you say so.”

Kurt bit Blaine’s shoulder out of frustration and growled in the back of his throat as his sub burst into a fit of laughter. He grabbed Blaine’s curls and pulled them hard, his eyes glowing silver and hot like molten steel.

“Fuck me!” he commanded in a low, dangerous voice. “Climb on my ass and fuck me now before I go insane!”

Blaine couldn’t stop laughing, but he quickly complied.

Out in the living room, Barbra, Finn, Jeff, and Nick all high-fived each other while Hunter ordered the pizza.

 


	16. Neon: The Noble Gas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge Day 14 prompt "neon". Warning for baseless humor.

  
 

Blaine walked into the living room to see Finn sitting on the floor at the coffee table, markers spread all over - some capped, most uncapped – while he labored over a piece of white poster board. In the center he had drawn three concentric circles. The middle one had ‘Ne’ written in it, while the other two were carefully festooned with smaller circle around the rim.

“Whatcha doing?” Blaine asked, recapping the markers before Kurt came in and saw them drying out.

“I’m making a poster for science class,” Finn answered, taking one of the recapped markers from Blaine’s hand and using it to color what looked like the crude drawing of a lighted sign. “I have to do a oral presentation on neon.”

“Neon?” Blaine asked, watching Finn color carefully within the lines of his drawing.

“Yup,” Finn said, raising his head and gesturing with his hands dramatically as he recited the title of his project, “Neon…a noble gas.”

Blaine smirked.

“You know,” Blaine said, recapping the last marker, eyes shifting around to see if anyone would hear, “you should ask Dave. I hear he has a lot of experiences with gas.”

“Watch yourself, Anderson,” Dave said, walking through the living room on his way to the kitchen, “or I’ll tie you down and gag you myself.”

“Kurt!” Blaine yelled, running through the house, “Dave’s threatening to dominate me!”

Meanwhile, a quiet Finn shook his head and continued with his coloring.

 


	17. Hunted

**A/N:** _Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge Day 16 "Pulse"._

 

Kurt tiptoed through the dark. He didn’t like this; feeling helpless…feeling vulnerable. He felt a hundred eyes trained on him from somewhere in the shadows all around. A cold breeze whipped through his hair and he shivered. His mind raced with all the possibilities, everything that might await him just around the corner. His breaths came quickly as he moved, slithering against the wall, quiet and nimble, like a cat. His black suit clung to him, trapping in the heat, making him feel heavier than he should.

He heard the shuffle of feet behind him and he froze…a single bead of sweat breaking free from his hairline and dripping over his brow, hovering dangerously close to his eyes. He longed to blink it away, but he dared not move. _Not a sound, Kurt. Not a sound, or they might hear you._

Something in Kurt’s head told him that he was already too late.

He sighed deeply, clutching hard to the gun in his hands.

Only one thing to do, and he didn’t look forward to it. Not at all.

Kurt Hummel didn’t back down in the face of a challenge. He would turn, face the predator that stalked him, and fight.

The pulse came out of nowhere, before he even had the chance to turn around, hitting him square in the chest. Lights flashed and alarms blared in Kurt’s ears. It was over. Game over. Over before it had even begun. Kurt hung his head in defeat.

“Uncle Kurt!” Finn crowed as he jumped out from behind the partition, Blaine giggling behind him. “You suck at this!”

“Yeah!” Blaine agreed. “We’ve been following you for the last ten minutes.” Blaine wrapped his arms around his dom, kissing him fiercely on the lips.

“Kurt,” Blaine whispered, a sly grin mocking Kurt as it grew on Blaine’s face, “were you doing that inner monologue thing again?”

Kurt rolled his eyes.

“You think you know me so well, Blaine Anderson,” Kurt sneered playfully, “but you don’t have a clue.”

Blaine raised an eyebrow as he looked into Kurt’s steely gray eyes. Kurt dropped his head.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Yes, I was.”

Blaine barked out a laugh, kissing Kurt lightly as Finn began to howl.

“Ugh!” Kurt groaned. “This is what I wasn’t looking forward to.”

They both turned to see Finn, dancing around obnoxiously, wiggling his butt as he jumped back and forth.

“Does he always have to do that?” Kurt shook his head. Barbra limped slowly out from behind another partition with Dave and Adam in tow.

“Can we go now?” she asked earnestly, looking a little more than tired.

“Yes,” Blaine said, glancing once more at Finn. “I think we’ve had more of that…” He gestured to the still gyrating boy, “…than I can take.”

Dave grinned.

“Let’s get a pizza and go home to your sisters,” he said as Adam helped him out of his gear.

“Yeah,” Kurt agreed, handing his laser gun to Blaine and starting with his own breastplate.

“Don’t worry, babe,” Blaine reassured Kurt. “We’ll be back here for laser tag next week, and I can hunt you down again.”

Kurt pecked a quick kiss to Blaine’s lips, biting his sub’s lower lip for good measure.

“I can hardly wait.”

 


	18. Fifteen Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Putting the final few stitches in Eva’s wedding dress, Kurt remembers the exact moment when she opened her heart and finally let him in. But Blaine had always had a place in Eva’s heart. Except now, he’s afraid that he’s going to be replaced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge Prompt "stitch". Rated PG.

Kurt didn’t understand Eva’s sullen mood. His little spitfire, a constant bundle of energy, never seemed to tire, especially with Blaine around. Yet there she was, sulking in the corner, as far away from the rest of the family as she could get, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

Kurt looked her over, watching her pick at the frayed threads on the knees of her denim jeans; her blue shirt, so loose-fitting that she looked uncomfortable wearing it, definitely was not one of her favorites. Seeing Eva in jeans and a t-shirt was a rare sight lately, but there she was, and she looked _miserable_. Kurt’s brow wrinkled as he regarded her choice of clothes, coupled with red eyes and splotchy cheeks, as if she had been crying.

Kurt sighed, finally understanding.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, patting Blaine’s knee. “No, don’t look. Just finish the movie,” he added before Blaine could turn around and spot Eva in the corner. Kurt didn’t want Blaine to notice before Kurt had the chance to talk to their girl. Kurt rose from his seat on the sofa and walked to Eva’s corner. She had pulled her arms tight around her knees when she heard him approach, so he sat a small distance away, giving her space to feel comfortable.

“Eva? Sweetheart?” Kurt started carefully. “Where’s your daisy dress?”

Blaine had bought Eva the cutest sundress the last time they all went to the mall. It was green gingham and covered in white daisies. Blaine had started calling Eva ‘his little daisy’ due to his penchant for sniffing her hair. One day, she looked at him, all scrunched face and smiling, and asked, “Why you smell me?”

“Because you’re my little daisy,” he had replied, rubbing his nose against hers, and the nickname stuck.

So the dress was perfect.

The sundress was a simple cotton frock, nothing at all fancy about it except the daisy trim that lined the bodice and the hem. Eva had put it on the moment Blaine gave it to her and refused to take it off. She wore it to school and to the playground. She even wore it to bed on the days Kurt couldn’t convince her to take it off and let him wash it.

But now, the dress was conspicuously absent.

Eva didn’t answer Kurt, just fiddled with the threads some more, twirling them around her fingers and pulling hard till they snapped.

“Eva …” Kurt urged.

Eva turned her face to meet his, wide brown eyes watery, lower lip quivering. The girl who never really hugged anyone except Blaine grabbed Kurt’s hand and held it to her face, hiding her eyes.

“Oh, Eva,” Kurt cooed. “Please, let me help you.”

Eva didn’t say a word. She simply stood, holding Kurt’s hand. Kurt stood, too, and she pulled him along, ducking quickly into her room and shutting the door behind them.

Eva stopped in the center of the room and stood there frozen, not telling Kurt anything of what happened to the dress. She stared at Kurt intensely, trying to convey the information using only her eyes, and when that didn’t work, she pointed despairingly in the direction of her bed.

Kurt climbed over the small mattress and reached beneath her pile of stuffed animals, each one dressed in an outfit made out of Blaine’s old shirts. He felt beneath her pillow and found the dress, carefully folded and tucked away. Eva put her hands over her eyes, hoping that if she couldn’t see Kurt, then he wouldn’t see her.

Then he wouldn’t get angry. And he wouldn’t tell on her.

Kurt unfolded the dress and held it up for inspection. Aside for some fading, Kurt couldn’t see anything wrong. He shook the dress out. That’s when he noticed a length of the daisy trim hanging from the fabric.

“Oh, Eva. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Eva didn’t answer. She whimpered behind her fists as she pressed them into her eyes.

“Did you think Blaine would be angry if he saw this?”

Eva whimpered again, but this time she nodded.

“Eva, honey, I can fix this.”

Eva’s whimpering stopped. “You mean that?” she asked in a shaky voice.

“Of course,” Kurt said, trying to sound as confident as he could so that she would trust him with her precious dress. “Do you want to come watch me?”

Eva nodded.

“Okay. But we’re going to have to be a little sneaky,” Kurt whispered, folding the dress back up and holding it close to his body to hide it from view. “Follow me.”

Kurt and Eva walked back through the house quickly without attracting attention, out the patio doors, and to Kurt’s studio in the yard. Eva didn’t like the little house with the deep red walls, so she waited outside while Kurt went in to fetch a needle and thread.

“Here we go,” Kurt said when he emerged, holding the threaded needle for her to see. He sat cross-legged in the grass and got to work. They huddled together, Eva leaning over Kurt’s lap while he sewed the daisy trim carefully back in place. When he finished, he tied off the thread and snipped it, then held the dress up with a tiny _Ta-da!_ of triumph.

Eva took the dress and brought the trim up to her eye, bouncing from the mended section to another section, examining the stitches.

“That fifteen stitches,” she observed with a note of astonishment. “Doesn’t look different.”

“Nope, it doesn’t.” Kurt watched her cradle the dress in her arms. She looked at him and flashed her signature smile.

“Can you teach me?”

Kurt jerked upright. Eva never asked him for anything – not to read to her, or play with her, or tuck her into bed. Before he had met Blaine, Kurt was the one who could best ‘handle’ her, but they never really had a connection, nothing even close to what she and Blaine shared. But here she was, asking him for something.

Kurt wanted to cry.

“Now?” he asked.

Eva scoffed. “Not now,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Now I put on my dress and show Blaine.”

She took off back to the house, but Kurt sat stunned. Even if she never did come back and ask him for sewing lessons, this whole moment they shared was a huge step. By the time Kurt pried himself off the grass and walked back in the house, Eva had changed into her daisy dress. She sat in Blaine’s lap, recounting the harrowing tale of the ripped trim and how Kurt had valiantly fixed it.

That’s how Kurt remembered her story, anyway.

“Fifteen stitches, Uncle Blaine,” she chirped happily, with just one or two babbling words thrown in in her excitement. “And Uncle Kurt promised to teach me sewing.”

And Kurt did.

The next day she came to him with a tiny basket full of ripped doll clothes, victims of a few of her earlier tantrums, and they sat together on the living room floor and repaired them.

Repairing clothes led to designing her own, her school binder filled with rough sketches on lined loose leaf. They didn’t look like much of anything other than copies of things she’d seen, but before anyone knew it, or realized that her hobby would someday become a career, she received a full-scholarship to Parsons with a portfolio that Kurt helped her put together. It was a thing of beauty in his eyes, representing his and Eva’s relationship as it had blossomed from that one afternoon forward.

Kurt sighed at the memory of the day when Eva finally opened that door in her heart that everyone eventually found their way into and let Kurt in.

Kurt would never forget it.

“Hey! Did you fall asleep there?” Blaine joked, tapping Kurt lightly on the knee. Kurt turned to look at Blaine, an older but still beautiful Blaine, past the needle and white thread in his aching hand.

“No, I didn’t fall asleep,” Kurt snapped playfully. “It’s just …”

“Uncle Kurt,” Eva cut in, “are you okay? Your eyes are watering.”

“I’m fine, young lady.” Kurt sniffled, wiping away an obvious tear with the back of his hand. “It’s just a little tiring sewing all this lace by hand. Do you know how many stitches …?”

“Fifteen per inch,” Blaine and Eva parroted together.

They giggled, and Kurt sighed.  _Know it alls._

“I just don’t see why you don’t run it under the sewing machine,” Blaine insisted, gesturing pushing fabric through a machine with his hands. “No one will notice.”

Kurt and Eva glared at him in disgust.

“It’s a  _wedding dress_ , Blaine,” Kurt groaned, “not a Prom dress. I can’t just _run it through a machine_.”

“Besides,” Eva added, “Uncle Nicky would notice.”

“Not Uncle Jeff,” Kurt said with a smile, gently poking the needle through the delicate fabric.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Eva agreed with a laugh. Kurt remembered when they tried to get Jeff to join in on the discussion of linens, asking him to choose between the primrose, lavender, or lilac napkins, and how frustrated he got, asking them how he was supposed to choose between purple, purple, and purple. “Now Charley—“

Eva stopped when she saw Blaine’s eyes drop to his hands, his fingers fiddling with a spare square of satin. Blaine was still a little touchy on the subject of Eva’s impending wedding, especially the idea that some other man had taken his place in his little girl’s heart. Kurt turned to comfort him but Eva beat him to it, sitting on Blaine’s lap and rubbing her nose against his.

“Don’t be mad at Charley, Uncle Blaine. I asked him to marry me, remember?”

“I know, I know. And saying yes was the smartest thing that boy has ever done, but … he doesn’t deserve you, Daisy,” Blaine joked somberly the way he always did. But the more he said it, the more he sounded like he meant it, and Kurt had to put his foot down.

“Yes, he does,” Kurt said pointedly.

Blaine sighed, more at the truth than at being scolded. He knew Kurt was right. “Yeah, he does.”

Charley Duval-Sterling. Eva’s fiancé. The little boy Nick and Jeff adopted pretty much the day after they got married had grown up with Eva, trading a healthy measure of adolescent disgust for a fond affection through high school. Charley traveled abroad for a year after graduation while Eva went straight to college, eager to follow in her uncle’s footsteps, and that seemed to put their friendship on hold. But when they both ran in to one another by chance in New York, they fell in love.

Charley was a wonderful boy - as energetic as Nick, as sentimental as Jeff, and as loving and compassionate a person as anyone Kurt had ever met.

Blaine tried his hardest to hate him for no other reason than he was taking his little Eva away.

Eva put her arms around Blaine’s shoulders, and he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“I’ll always love you best of all, Uncle Blaine,” she whispered into his curls. “No matter where I go, no matter what I do, I’ll always be your Daisy. All the time, every day, all morning.”

He kissed her on the cheek. “And I’ll always love you, Daisy,” Blaine replied in a voice as broken as his heart. “All the time … every day … all morning.”

Kurt, trying his hardest to be the stoic one, doing his best to stay strong, let a few tears slip when the room became quiet and he heard Blaine sniffling beside him.

Blaine had thought their goodbye before college would be the most difficult one.

But this one was going to be a hundred times harder.

The little girl who had stolen Blaine’s heart had grown into an intelligent, talented, beautiful woman … and now she was getting married. The only thing standing between this moment now with Eva in his arms and “I do” was her dress.

And Kurt had only fifteen stitches left to go.

 


	19. So Close to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the Klaine Advent Drabble "us". Rated PG13 for language. A shout-out has to go to ASuperGleek. A chapter of her story The Understudy helped inspire this.

Blaine sits sifting through old yearbooks, reminiscing on days past, all the friends he made and cherished. He savors each photograph, tracing over some with his fingertips, as if he might be able to reach in and return to that moment in time. And in a way he does, because it all went by so quickly, in the blink of an eye, that the blink of an eye brings him right back to those moments. He sighs as he turns a few more pages. Then he stops…and he stares, the smile growing on his face a mixture of mirth and disbelief.

“Oh my God,” he mutters, laughing.

Kurt walks in with another box to go through.

“Why is it,” Kurt says, “that I feel like I’m doing all the work, and you’re just in here daydreaming?”

Kurt looks over Blaine’s shoulder and rolls his eyes.

“Worse,” he says. “You’re looking at old pictures of yourself.”

“Not of me, love,” Blaine says, “ _us_.”

Kurt puts the box on the floor with an undignified groan.

“What?” He drops down onto the bed beside Blaine.

Blaine passes the open book to Kurt and points to a picture on the page. Kurt lifts the book to his face, a small spark of recognition lighting in his eyes.

“Hey,” Kurt says, giggling, “I remember those blazers.”

“Really?’ Blaine drawls, waiting for the moment of recognition to hit him.

“Yeah.” Kurt shakes his head and chuckles. “There was this group we sang against in high school. God, I remember thinking they were so stuck up…”

Blaine’s smile falls instantly.

“Really?” he says again, a little tighter this time.

“Oh, God, yes,” Kurt says earnestly, looking into Blaine’s eyes, not noticing the change in his mood. “They were an a cappella group. Did a lot of Katy Perry...” Kurt groans and rolls his eyes. Blaine’s cheeks get hot. Kurt puts down the book and gestures emphatically with his hands. “Wait, wait, wait…” Kurt jumps on the bed in his excitement. “I remember they had this lead singer…” Kurt rolls his eyes to the ceiling, smiling fondly. “He looked so good in his uniform…”

“Really?” Blaine’s smile returns.

“Yeah…he had the hottest ass…no offense…”

“None taken.” Blaine bites his lip as Kurt continues.

“And the way he moved…” Kurt moans, closing his eyes to recapture the memory. “But his hair…he used to wear it in this God awful gel helmet…kind of the way you did…on _Sing_ …”

Kurt’s eyes open, and a comical look of horror and recognition war on his face. Kurt looks at Blaine, still biting his lip. Kurt grabs for the book and looks closely at the picture on the page.

“Oh my God!” Kurt squeals, looking at the handsome boy in the uniform. “That’s you!”

“Yup,” Blaine confirms. “My last year at Dalton.”

Blaine points to the photo again.

“Take a look at the boy to my left.”

Kurt had been so absorbed by the photo of the Dalton Academy Warblers and their spiffy uniforms that he didn’t notice another boy standing to the far left where another group photo had been cropped; one lonely member having survived the cut. This boy stood almost back to back with Blaine. Had either one of them reached back they would have touched…turned around and they would have met.

Kurt’s eyes go wide.

“That’s me,” Kurt says in awe. “I’m standing right there next to you, and we never even met.” Blaine nods, sitting closer to Kurt so he can share his view of the photograph.

“I was so close to you,” Blaine whispers, looking at a younger version of the themselves, both looking forward to the future with not a clue what it would contain.

Kurt looks down at the space between them, barely an inch difference from where their hands rest on the bed.

He chuckles, looking up into Blaine’s face and kissing the tip of his nose.

“Look at how close we are now.”


	20. A Shot in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dom Kurt having fun teasing a shackled sub Blaine, tempting him with his favorite drink - vodka - which turns into a rare appearance by Blaine’s dominator side coming through after Kurt gets a little tipsy.
> 
> This was inspired by Klaine Advent Drabble prompt “vodka” and got a little dirtier than I intended, but I think also shows how fluid Kurt and Blaine’s relationship is, how nothing is off limits for them.
> 
> Warning for D/s themes, drinking, the effects of getting drunk, teasing, body shots, bondage, lingerie, oral sex, rutting, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it pain play, biting, implied switching.

Kurt sat perched astride Blaine’s hips, naked except for a black lace garter belt hugging his hips and a pair of black silk stockings on his long, muscular legs. Blaine, hands shackled above him to a length of chain that fitted between the wooden slats of the headboard and completely naked with his Dom’s body pinning him to the mattress, stared up at the delicious sight of Kurt sitting calm and cool, icy blue eyes shining, shot glass poised close to his mouth. Kurt ran his tongue along his plump, pink, kiss-swollen lips as he made ready to throw back the clear liquid…and then stopped.

“What I don’t understand is this…” Kurt said. Blaine exhaled dramatically, his eyes rolling back behind his closed lids. “Why would you even keep a present from the dreaded _ex_?”

“Because it’s _vodka_ ,” Blaine explained, as he had in one way or another, for the tenth time. “It’s supposed to be _good_ vodka, and I happen to like _vodka_.”

“And why did she buy you the stuff that comes in a big crystal skull?” Kurt reached down to his side, fondling the fluid filled glass skull suggestively.

Blaine watched Kurt’s fingers caress the smooth surface of the crystal head and swallowed hard.

“You know her,” Blaine answered, his voice cracking when Kurt ran just his fingertips lightly in small circles, teasing the way he did when he had his hands on Blaine’s cock. “She likes to think she’s so punk rock and hardcore. It’s just kitsch.”

Kurt brought the shot to his lips again and Blaine watched, eyes wide, waiting for Kurt to take a sip. Blaine wasn’t sure why, but the thought of being dominated by a tipsy Kurt made his whole body tremble from his bones on out.

Blaine wanted it so bad.

“Kitsch?” Kurt moved the shot away from his lips again, and Blaine’s throbbing cock jerked where it rested against his stomach. Kurt ignored it, reaching over the side of the bed to the floor and grabbing the box the skull head of vodka came in. “Let’s see how kitschy this skull juice really is,” Kurt said, flipping the box deftly in one hand to find what he was looking for. “It says here,” Kurt read thoughtfully, “it’s made from Newfoundland water triple crystal filtered through Herkimer diamonds…” Kurt looked back at Blaine, making a mock impressed face, forming his lips into a tight ‘o’ that made Blaine’s cock throb harder. Kurt noticed the look of desperation on his sub’s face but turned back to the box, a small smirk curling his lips as he continued reading. “Oooo, Dan Akroyd makes this stuff.”

“Kuuurt?” Blaine whined, trying not to shift uncomfortably beneath his Dom’s body, forcing himself not to seek friction for his aching erection.

“Wait, wait, wait…” Kurt continued, overriding Blaine’s plaintive plea. “In reverence of those enlightened after touching any of the thirteen crystal heads unearthed around our globe we offer this pure spirit.” Kurt raised a brow, flung the box back to the floor, and fixed his gaze on Blaine’s lust blown eyes.

“Well, well then,” Kurt cooed. “Bottoms up.”

Blaine licked his lips as he watched Kurt take the shot into his mouth and swallow, but almost immediately Kurt’s serene face twisted into a grimace of disgust.

“Oh my God!” he groaned, his usually high and airy voice gruff and raw. “That tastes _awful_! It’s like…rubbing alcohol and metal shavings!” He swallowed his empty mouth dry a few more times, shaking his head and whimpering. “And it burns!”

Kurt expected Blaine to laugh, to chuckle darkly at his expense, but Blaine’s eyes devoured the sultry image of Kurt, dressed in delicate black silk and lace, pounding back that shot, grimace or not.

“Well, people often mix it with other things,” Blaine said hurriedly, watching Kurt pour another shot, cap the skull head bottle, and inhale the liquor with a sharp, backward snap of his neck. Kurt peered at Blaine over the rim of the empty glass, studying the honey-colored eyes that burned through him like the fire-water searing his throat. The heat in Blaine’s eyes became the tinder that fueled his own – a deep, roiling boil that started in the pit of his stomach, a potent mix of unbridled lust and alcohol. He felt it warm his whole body, his skin tingling, licked by tiny flames beneath his flesh.

Kurt leaned forward over Blaine’s body, purposefully depriving Blaine of the feel of his skin and hovering just above where Blaine needed Kurt to touch. With the alcohol in his system, Kurt felt a little more loose, a little more free. He looked down at Blaine, smiling a lopsided but knowing smile. Blaine could smell the alcohol on him – sharp and strong and heady, mixed with Kurt’s own smell, full of a strange, erotic power.

“What do you think it would taste like,” Kurt whispered, “if I mixed it with _you_?”

Blaine waited patiently as he watched his Dom pour another shot. Kurt dipped one long, elegant finger into the clear liquid, capturing a drop on his skin. He ran the wet finger over Blaine’s lips, circling the sensitive skin twice before capturing Blaine’s mouth in a kiss, deep and dirty, not enough tongue and too much teeth, hungry enough to make Blaine beg for more…if he had permission.

Kurt pulled away too quickly. Another finger dipped in vodka circled Blaine’s mouth. Before he could catch the drips on his tongue, Kurt was on him like a breath of warm air in an already too hot room. A spark shot through him at the taste of Kurt’s tongue. Alcohol was foreign, almost taboo when associated with Kurt. With the exception of a single shot of tequila every so often and a few glasses of wine on special occasions, Kurt rarely drank. He never felt the need to surrender to the abandon that came with excessive drinking.

There was something exciting and sensual about the taste of vodka on Kurt’s lips. It made Blaine’s Dom more dangerous (but not in an unsettling way), alluring, provocatively _human_ – strength with flaws, control with a touch of rebellion. Blaine quivered as Kurt took more and more from his lips and his mouth till his lips stung and he couldn’t breathe without Kurt.

Kurt sat up, leaving Blaine’s lips pursed, chasing Kurt’s mouth as he pulled away. Kurt smirked at the juxtaposition of bliss and agony on Blaine’s face.

“That was sweet,” Kurt said, husky and breathless. “Let’s see how it tastes somewhere else.”

Kurt raised the still mostly full shot over Blaine’s body and tipped it, carefully pouring the cool liquid into the hollow of Blaine’s neck. Some of it pooled and some of it slipped over his skin in a thin river. Kurt lapped at the small puddle of vodka slowly. Blaine moaned every time Kurt’s silky tongue touched his skin. When the liquor was mostly gone, Kurt latched over the spot, sucking lightly to clean away the rest.

Kurt giggled when he raised his head - cheeks flushed pink and pupils wide.

“Kurt…” Blaine’s voice wavered slightly in a partial cautionary tone. “That’s your third shot.”

“I know.” Kurt kissed along the column of Blaine’s neck, licking up the tracks left by the rivers of vodka. “I think I might be starting to feel it.”

“I wish _I_ could feel it,” Blaine whispered, dying with every ounce of his desire for Kurt to take a body shot off his Dom.

Kurt bit Blaine’s lip when his kisses traveled around to his sub’s mouth.

“I don’t know if I should,” Kurt hummed, vibrations spiraling off his lips and firing across Blaine’s skin, skimming smoothly down his muscles and making his already straining cock bob.

“Let me, Kurt,” Blaine pleaded softly, melting as Kurt’s lips brushed over his skin.

“Well…” Kurt smiled, sitting up and grabbing the skull to pour another shot. “Maybe you should at least catch up.”

Kurt moved the bulky skull to the bedside table. He held the shot aloft, looking between it and Blaine in confusion, trying to decide on the best way to serve it to him. Blaine watched Kurt’s eyes bounce back and forth, and he jiggled the shackles.

“Maybe…” Blaine raised a brow hopefully. Kurt’s brow rose with his in question, and then he understood.

“Right!” Kurt put the shot on the bedside table and picked up the silver key to the shackles. He fumbled the tiny thing with shaking fingers, giggling every time he dropped it and had to go in search of it. When he could concentrate on gripping it firmly between his fingertips, Kurt tried to fit the key in the lock, struggling to overlook the way Blaine’s tongue gently circled his nipple or how his mouth suckled on the hard nub. Only one shackle came undone but Blaine didn’t care. He was after _one_ thing. In his mind, he already felt it filling his mouth, the heat of it sliding over his tongue. He lunged for Kurt, flipping him quickly onto his back and locking Kurt’s wrist in the loose shackle, Kurt’s eyes widening in shock as he watched his sub get the upper hand.

Blaine pulled the chain tight until Kurt’s one shackled wrist met the headboard, giving Blaine the bulk of the chain’s length and the freedom to move around. When Kurt finally realized everything that Blaine had done, Blaine had the shot in his hand, a mischievous smile curling his lips. But instead of drinking it, he dribbled the contents of the glass from Kurt’s belly button down to his groin and over his cock, soaking the lace garter that clung wetly to Kurt’s hips. Blaine dropped down over Kurt, following the trail below his naval with his tongue, smiling with delight when Kurt arched his back, bending up to meet Blaine’s mouth. Without a breath of warning, Blaine took him, surrounding Kurt’s cock with the heat of his mouth, searching out the vodka with his tongue, snaking around Kurt’s shaft and lapping greedily.

Kurt had had Blaine’s mouth on him more times than he could remember, and it always felt amazing, but this was different. This wasn’t just sucking and licking; this was drinking, tasting, savoring. Blaine grabbed the crystal skull and, forgoing the shot glass, poured more vodka over Kurt’s skin. When Blaine’s lips closed over his head, Kurt bucked up sharply into his sub’s mouth. Kurt felt Blaine swallow, humming appreciatively as he did at the tastes of edgy and smooth, bitter and salty. Blaine couldn’t separate them, couldn’t discern the difference between Kurt and the vodka, so he devoured them both.

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt moaned, pulling against the shackle on his wrist, tightening the chain that held him. “God, yes!”

Kurt couldn’t keep still, rolling his hips up to fuck Blaine’s mouth, and Blaine moved with him, following Kurt’s body. Blaine poured more alcohol over Kurt’s skin. He lapped it up with his tongue, sipped it through his lips, and slowly he started to feel the fire, too, but how much of it was vodka and how much of it was _Kurt_ , Blaine wasn’t sure. His head swam, his stomach blazed, his body ignited all over. His cock ached for release, but Blaine needed Kurt’s lips on his so he could cum.

Blaine climbed up Kurt’s body, laying over him while he filled his glass for one more shot. Blaine tossed it back, groaning as the liquid burned his throat (a consequence of not drinking hard liquor in a while). He coughed a few times, breathing deeply to clear his head. Then his mouth was on Kurt’s, his unshackled hand wrapping around his cock and Kurt’s together, stroking quickly. Kurt moaned loudly, in a breathy way that was both angelic and obscene. The fingers of their shackled hands laced where they hung trapped above their bodies.

“God, baby,” Blaine murmured between kisses, “you’re fucking hot when you’re a little tipsy, aren’t you?”

Kurt bit Blaine’s lower lip in response, pulling slightly so it stung.

“And…and you’re kind of a slut about it, too,” Blaine panted. Kurt gasped at the remark, but then he giggled.

“Is that my sexy dominator talking?” Kurt asked demurely. “Because I like it when he comes out to play.”

“Yeah?” Blaine’s voice dropped to a whisper, smooth and sinful as he moved his lips lightly over Kurt’s neck. “He likes having you to play with.”

Blaine almost regretted for a moment not letting Kurt unshackle his other hand. He would have loved to have Kurt completely at his mercy – hands trapped above his head, immobile, helpless while Blaine toyed with him, bringing him close to the edge and then pulling away, leaving him wanting, writhing, begging for relief.

But this closeness was what Blaine favored. Kurt’s silk-sheathed leg twined its way around Blaine’s body, pulling to bring them closer. Kurt’s free hand restlessly danced over Blaine’s body, nails digging into his muscles, searching for a place to hold on to. Kurt’s mouth and skin still tasted like vodka, and Blaine couldn’t get enough. Blaine didn’t just kiss Kurt, he consumed him, and without realizing it, he had rolled on top of Kurt, letting go of their cocks to pin Kurt’s hand to the pillow. Blaine’s hips bore down on Kurt, rutting against him roughly.

Kurt loved the feeling of being trapped beneath Blaine. He blinked his eyes, trying to capture a glimpse of his beautiful sub during his ruthless assault, but the room spinning made focusing impossible. Kurt didn’t drink, and he was surprised that the tipping and tilting of the world didn’t make him nauseous. He felt grounded beneath Blaine’s body, and an unfamiliar liquid flame connected every muscle and every nerve until he no longer felt real.

He spread his legs wide for Blaine and moaned into the air around him, not caring an inch about the control that quickly siphoned away, did nothing to grab it back. Rational thought became a joke as he felt himself being used, stripped down to the only elements that mattered to Blaine in this intense moment – his cock and his mouth.

Blaine pinned Kurt down by his wrists, squeezed them until they hurt. A whimper slipped past Kurt’s lips followed by a pornographic growl of pleasure. Blaine marked Kurt’s skin, bit across his chest, and Kurt responded by arching up to meet his mouth, begging and babbling and sometimes giggling. Kurt was so sweet, so incredibly desirable, but he wasn’t just a plaything to Blaine.

Kurt was everything.

That was why feeling Kurt cum beneath him while he chased his own orgasm was such a treat for Blaine, such a reward. Kurt’s cock pulsing against Blaine’s stomach did him in, the strained gasp in Kurt’s voice when he opened his mouth to say one last thing and couldn’t, the hands that had been rolling in Blaine’s grasp stilling, fingers flexing in the air.

Kurt’s body was filthy from his own cum and sticky from where spit and vodka dried on his skin. Blaine longed to lick him clean, but that moment passed as the heat from the alcohol bled away. In the cool, calm air lay his sated Kurt, and the overwhelming desire to be wrapped in his Dom’s arms.

Curling up beside Kurt and feeling him fold around his body required an awkward twist of Blaine’s arm above his head, since the key to the shackles had become momentarily lost in the mix, but Blaine didn’t care. He craved Kurt’s closeness in moments like this, when the sex was over and Blaine came back to himself, fully aware that Kurt had relinquished some measure of control for the sake of pleasure – a pleasure that they shared, that was unique to their relationship, a pleasure that was sacred.

Blaine’s sub side returned with his Dom’s arm wrapped securely around him, and the dominator that surfaces every once in a blue moon retreated back to wherever he exists in Blaine’s brain. Kurt dropped sloppy kisses into Blaine’s curls and smiled, a bit loopy but regaining control.

“Did you enjoy that, sweetheart?” Kurt asked, his words slurred around the edges, but not as much as before.

“Yes,” Blaine admitted with a nod. “I did, very much.”

“Okay,” Kurt giggled, kissing Blaine’s temple, feeling Blaine smile where his head rested against his chest, “put that one on the list. It was kind of fun.”

 


	21. Someone to Tell My Secrets to (aka The Life of Brian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the Klaine Advent Challenge prompt "whisper". Rated G.

Eva walked with Kurt and Blaine through the swinging double doors of the shelter. Eva clung to Blaine’s hand. She wore large, black, noise canceling headphones to block out the noise of dogs barking and cage doors crashing together. Eva pressed her body as close to Blaine’s leg as she could, until he almost couldn’t walk comfortably. He looked down at her head of dark curls and smiled. He raised his eyes to see Kurt raising his eyes as well, giving Blaine a sympathetic look.

Blaine ran a hand through Eva’s dark hair. She looked up at him with a weak half-smile, a little weary of being in this large building with the many cages and the fidgeting, fussing animals.

Eva had just started school and the first week seemed to go by just fine. But then she seemed to withdraw. She still talked to Blaine, but took to talking with him secretly, staying close to his side and whispering in his ear. Hunter suggested that she might not be dealing with the change very well – new environment, new schedule, new people, new sounds, new smells. She hadn’t developed any new triggers, but she had become quiet and easily frustrated, sometimes to the point of tears. In a way, the new silent Eva was a bit more off-putting than full-out tantrum Eva, whom thankfully they really only saw once in a blue moon.

Hunter had suggested getting her a cat. A cat would offer her companionship, something that could help soothe and comfort her through the rough patches in her day.

Hunter had called ahead to the shelter, talking with an administrator who dealt with therapy animals. He told her that Kurt and Blaine would be coming, and bringing Eva to find a new friend.

An older woman with slightly graying hair and a genuine smile approached. Blaine felt Eva tighten around his leg, and Blaine reacted, putting up a hand to keep the woman from coming too close.

“If you don’t mind,” Blaine said, smiling warmly. The woman’s confused eyes flicked down at the girl hiding between Blaine’s legs, wearing large headphones and squeezing her eyes shut, and she understood.

“Mr. Anderson,” the woman said. She turned to Kurt and nodded. “Mr. Hummel. Welcome. My name is Lydia. We have a room all set up for you in the therapy wing.”

She led the way through another set of double doors, and a hallway that was much more quiet, much more peaceful. She told them about their program, and the animals they screen and deem eligible for adoption specifically as therapy animals. Blaine absorbed every word, talking excitedly about the program, while simultaneously limping along with little Eva still firmly attached. Kurt pulled up the rear, feeling almost forgotten, but smiling as he watched the interaction.

She led them to a conference room at the far end of the hallway, away from the sounds of people, animals, and metal cages. The rough carpet beneath their feet absorbed the sound of their footsteps as they walked across it. Kurt wondered how they would pick the perfect cat for Eva exactly. Would they need to fill out a personality profile, or take some sort of test?

The process, to Kurt’s surprise, was much simpler than that. Cat after cat was brought into the room – one at a time with a minute or two in between so that Eva could become comfortable with the influx of animals. After the last cat was brought in, fifteen cats total milled about the open space, and the three adults watched to see how Eva would react. For a while, Eva sat in the far corner of the room, not anxiously, but curiously. A few cats approached her, and she would eye them with a mixture of concern and interest, but then they would turn and go on their merry way.

After a while, the cats stopped finding Eva interesting, and she didn't seem all too interested in the cats, either. At one point, Lydia put out a small arrangement of toys for Eva to use to try and entice the cats to play, but Eva just looked at them, and then looked away.

Kurt leaned against Blaine and sighed. He didn’t want to give up hope, but it didn’t seem like a cat was the answer to their prayers.

“I don’t understand,” Lydia said, watching the scene play out, mouth agape. “Not one of them seems to be attuned to her mood, and she’s giving off some pretty blaring signs.”

Kurt wasn’t exactly sure how this ‘cat magic’ was supposed to work, so he simply nodded sadly in agreement.

Kurt squeezed Blaine’s hand as he watched the mob of cats ignoring his little girl, and Eva, still with her headset on, staring at the ceiling.

The woman who helped bring the cats in walked through the double doors, burdened with one more cat.

“I’m sorry, Lydia,” she said, walking straight to the older woman, cat in tow. “He got out again.”

Lydia looked at the striped cat and sighed.

“What are we going to do with you?” she cooed to the cat, who struggled to be free. He twisted impossibly from his handler’s grasp, and plopped to the floor, scurrying away to join the throng.

Kurt turned to Lydia.

“I think maybe we should take Eva and…”

Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hand and pointed to the far corner of the room, where the new cat stalked little Eva curiously. Eva turned her head and looked once…then she looked twice…then she looked around to see who the cat might be walking up to. She stepped back a little ways when she realized the cat was coming up to her, but then the tiny beast wrapped itself around her ankles, walking through her legs and over her feet, rubbing its smooth body against her. Kurt and Blaine, and maybe even Lydia, held their collective breaths and waited. Eva touched the cat experimentally on the top of the head, between his ears. He closed his green eyes and purred. Eva giggled. She sat on the floor and placed the cat in her lap. She hugged the animal to her and sighed. The cat didn’t struggle, made no move to leave, and the collective breath held in the room by all relaxed into a happy sigh. Kurt and Blaine gave Eva a moment with the cat, just to make sure this wasn’t a fluke, before approaching little Eva and her friend.

Blaine sat beside Eva and took off her headset, the small girl’s face beaming from ear to ear.

“Eva’s cat,” she said, hugging the cat and burying her nose into its fur. Kurt cringed for a moment, thinking the cat might bolt or try to scratch, but he was content to sit in her arms and be molested.

“I think maybe he is,” Blaine said, putting a comforting hand on her knee. “Now you have someone else you can tell all your secrets to.”

Eva nodded proudly, cuddling the cat close.

“That’s a beautiful cat,” Kurt said calmly, eying the marbled brown cat in Eva’s arms. “What do you think his name is?”

Eva leaned close to the cat’s ear, whispering to it quietly. Then she turned her head and put her ear up to the cat’s mouth, as if listening to the answer.

“Brian,” Eva said, addressing Kurt out loud for the first time in days. “He says his name is Brian.”

 


	22. In My Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble Prompt 2014 'ache'. Warning for bondage and minor anxiety.

“Are you ever going to get tired of me?” Blaine asked.

Kurt thought for a second that Blaine’s question was a sign of impending exhaustion – a passive-aggressive plea for Kurt to please hurry up and give him release before he passed out - and Kurt laughed. He glanced down at Blaine expecting a grin, but Blaine looked up with wide, anxious eyes at his Dom, quietly imploring him for an answer. Kurt gazed back at Blaine, at his beautiful sub locked beneath his body on the chair where he sat, hands cuffed behind his back, three piece suit of Kurt’s own design peeled carefully from his frame and hanging loosely off his shoulders, fly of his pants open wide, giving Kurt access to the only part of Blaine’s body that Kurt needed.

Blaine was normally a little chatty during sex. As his Dom, Kurt usually didn’t allow it, awarding multiple punishments for every infraction. But in times like this, when the lines that defined their relationship blurred and they were lovers as well as Dom and sub, Kurt bent the rules. As these _pseudo-sessions_ went on – as Kurt worked out his frustrations from the day using Blaine’s body, or when Blaine needed more love than discipline - Blaine would ramble, praising Kurt, moaning gratuitously, becoming less than coherent, the delicious sounds of him coming undone spurring Kurt on. But this was an unusual enough question to make Kurt pause, stopping his movements, settling in Blaine’s lap and looking deep into his sub’s eyes, searching for the origin of his self-doubt.

“What makes you ask that, my love?” Kurt asked, panting slightly, looping his arms around Blaine’s neck and rutting slowly to keep from losing his erection.

“I…” Blaine’s eyes darted back and forth, as if the words he was searching for were racing around the room and his eyes were trying to catch them, “it’s just that…your life was so different before we met…as a Dom, I mean…”

“A-ha,” Kurt agreed, bending forward to plant light, airy kisses up the length of Blaine’s neck. Not to distract him. On the contrary, to keep him focused on the slow simmer of Kurt’s body and what he desperately wanted to get back to.

“You had so many subs,” Blaine continued, closing his eyes and swallowing, his Adam’s Apple bobbing against Kurt’s lips as Kurt kept him close.

“Yes, I did,” Kurt said matter-of-factly.

Blaine nodded, just a little so as not to move too far from Kurt’s mouth.

“And now you have me,” Blaine sighed. “ _Only_ me.”

Kurt raised his eyes and his lips from Blaine’s neck and stared at him – his cheeks flushed and his lips swollen sinfully but looking so much like an insecure boy that it squeezed at Kurt’s heart and made his chest sore.

“Do you miss it?” Blaine asked in a fading voice.

Kurt felt Blaine’s breath on his lips and he longed to kiss his doubts away, but Blaine deserved better than misdirection. He deserved an answer.

“Sometimes,” Kurt replied honestly. Blaine nodded, and his eyes drifted away from Kurt’s face, finding a spot on the floor to stare at instead. Kurt wouldn’t allow Blaine to hide his eyes. He ducked to catch Blaine’s gaze. “But not because I miss my subs or that lifestyle,” Kurt said, his voice firm so that Blaine understood, “but because some of them were my friends. That’s all.” Kurt watched Blaine’s eyes focus, and then unfocus, and Kurt grunted a bit in frustration. He grabbed Blaine’s face in his hands and pulled Blaine’s eyes back up to meet his. “What you and I have is different,” Kurt said. “What you and I have goes beyond all of that. I don’t need any other subs in my life, Blaine. All I need is you.”

It was true. Kurt didn’t just desire Blaine. Kurt had to admit that in his life as a Dom, he had desired one or two men, and it was definitely easy to desire Blaine. No, Kurt needed Blaine - needed his love, needed his loyalty, and his submission.

Kurt had read some cheesy BDSM fiction in the past that had likened a Dom’s need to have a sub as a sort of physical condition, that if left unfulfilled could result in an illness that made a Dom weak. It had made him roll his eyes. A lot of it, he couldn’t even finish. But being with Blaine, suddenly all of those horribly written novels made a bit more sense. Sure he had gotten a rush dominating other men. Once he got the hang of it, once he unlocked the person he truly was with it, it became sort of addicting, job or no.

Being Blaine’s Dom was more than a job, more than a rush. Kurt’s body ached to dominate his lover - every cell reached out for Blaine. Blaine had become like oxygen to Kurt, to a point that it was almost painful for Kurt not to dominate him. When they went too long between sessions – even sessions like this – Kurt began to feel cold inside.

He needed Blaine’s body beneath him to keep him warm, to make him feel alive.

Kurt had many, many things and people in his life to be thankful for, but Blaine was a singular blessing.

Kurt looked into Blaine’s eyes – shimmering, melting from their normal tepid whiskey color to rings of liquid gold as they stared back at Kurt.

“No, my love,” Kurt whispered, leaning forward to speak the words against Blaine’s lips, to imprint them into is skin, “you’re underneath my skin, you’re in my blood. I’m never going to get tired of you.”


	23. Head in the Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lying on the backyard grass with Eva, Kurt and Blaine disagree over the identity of one particular cloud. Kurt is very scientific about the matter. Blaine, less so.
> 
> Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompt 'cloud'.

“Cumulonimbus!”

Blaine heard the squeaky voice of little Eva call out the random word in triumph and he smiled, following the sound through the back patio doors and into the yard.

“Very good!” he heard Kurt praise, and then the sound of clapping hands.

“Hey,” Blaine called out when he found the two, lying back on a blanket set in the grass, staring up at the sky. Eva smiled the way she always did when Blaine was around and immediately scooted over to give him some room to join them. “What are you guys doing?”

“We’re identifying clouds,” Eva explained, kicking her feet in the grass, giddy to show off her newfound knowledge.

“Yes,” Kurt said. “So far we’ve done stratus, stratocumulus, and…”

“Cumulonimbus!” Eva announced again in Kurt’s intentional pause.

Blaine laughed and took the girl’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together, her tiny fingers perfectly filling the gaps between his.

“That one’s her favorite,” Kurt leaned in and whispered.

“I figured,” Blaine whispered back.

“Would you like to try one?” Eva asked.

“Sure,” Blaine said. “What do I do?”

“You point to a cloud and ask one of us to identify it,” Eva said. “It’s Kurt’s turn.”

“Okay…” Blaine’s eyes scanned the clouds above their heads. The sky was full of them – numerous, white, and varying types, due to a series of off shore early winter storms. He pointed to a cloud passing straight over their heads. “That one.”

Kurt quickly blew a breath through his lips.

“Easy,” he said. “That’s a cumulus cloud.”

Eva cheered, raising a hand for Kurt to give her a high-five, which he did over Blaine’s head.

“Nope,” Blaine said seriously, shaking his head, his eyes still on the sky.

Both Kurt and Eva turned their heads and gave him questioning looks.

“Yes, it is,” Kurt argued.

“No, it isn’t,” Blaine said in a strangely superior way.

Kurt glared at Blaine, and then up at the cloud, suddenly equally miffed at both.

“Do you see how low it is?” Kurt asked condescendingly.

“Yup,” Blaine said.

“And do you see how dense and white it is?” Kurt asked.

“I do,” Blaine replied, having the nerve to sound condescending himself.

“And do you notice its well-defined outline?” Kurt pointed a finger up and traced along the outside of the cloud to emphasize his point.

“A-ha,” Blaine said, this time with a nod. Kurt paused and looked at him, annoyed that Blaine seemed to be objecting _and_ proving Kurt’s point all at the same time.

“Blaine…it’s a cumulus cloud,” Eva whispered, tugging at Blaine’s shirt to urge him to change his answer.

“Yes, I see all that,” Blaine said.

“Well…then…how can you say that it’s not a cumulus cloud?” Kurt stammered, sounding slightly more irritated than necessary for the subject at hand.

“Because it’s quite clearly a bunny rabbit,” Blaine answered with a sly grin.

The three of them stared silently up at the sky.

“He’s right,” Eva said, pointing with her narrow finger up at the cloud in question. “I see the ears…the nose…and look! There’s his fluffy tail.”

Kurt turned his head to look at Blaine as Blaine turned his head to smile at Kurt, biting his lip, caging a chuckle in the back of his throat.

“You know that you’re a tremendous dork, Blaine Anderson,” Kurt said without a hint of his boyfriend’s humor.

“Yup,” Blaine said, turning his face back up toward the sky, “but I’m your dork.”

Kurt sighed and shook his head, returning his gaze back to the drifting clouds.

“You most certainly are.”


	24. Early Morning Music Massacre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine can’t sleep, anxiously trying to sight-read a piece of music. As long as Blaine can’t sleep, Kurt can’t sleep, so he decides to help him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompt ‘harmony’.

Sounds of discord and dissonance pounding through the air woke Kurt from a blissful sleep. It sounded like roadside construction set to the rhythm of an 80s breakaway pop hit. He fought the noise with a pillow shoved over his head, trying desperately to ignore the din, hoping it would pass. But it was the sound of aggravated cursing between the ostinato rhythm that chipped away at his peaceful dreaming and dragged him into the present.

It was 3 AM and pitch black, and he was cold and alone.

As Kurt listened to the cacophony of noise filling the studio (not that he could avoid it), a pattern began to emerge. Harsh chords would scrape together, followed by a wrong note and Blaine’s favorite expletive.

“ _Plunk_ – fuck! _Plunk_ – fuck! _Plunk_ – fuck!”

Kurt groaned as he climbed out from beneath his nice, warm comforter and grabbed for his robe. He predicted this would happen when Blaine got the call asking him to fill in last minute for the keyboard player in his friend’s cover band. Kurt had just hoped that anxiety would have the decency to wait till daybreak to show its ugly face.

“ _Plunk_ – fuck! _Plunk_ – fuck! _Plunk_ – fuck!” The noise and the cursing continued, leading Kurt to Blaine’s work space, where Kurt found Blaine sitting on a bench in front of his electric keyboard. Wrapped in a robe but otherwise undressed, he sat hunched over the keys, sheet music spread out on every available service. He had a pair of Bose headphones clamped down over his ears, crushing his mass of curls to his head, the wire of the headset dangling and swaying back and forth as Blaine pounded out his frustration on the keys.

“Blaine,” Kurt whined, wrapping the robe tight around his body, “do you have to do this now?”

Blaine’s playing stopped. He looked up at Kurt, his brows drawn together in confusion.

“What do you mean?” Blaine asked, taking the headset down from his ears and resting it on the back of his neck. “How could I possibly wake you? I had my…”

Kurt reached over and grabbed the chord, pulling it up until the silver connector dangled in the air in front of Blaine’s face.

Blaine sighed, his shoulders sagging.

“I’m sorry, Kurt,” he said. “I didn’t mean to wake you. And I know you think I should be sleeping, but this is the first time I’ve performed with a band in ages. I just…I don’t want to mess this up.”

“I know that, baby,” Kurt said, walking behind Blaine and resting his hands on Blaine’s shoulders, massaging gently. “But you’re going to stress yourself out.”

“I know, I know…” Blaine bowed his head and melted beneath Kurt’s talented hands, “it’s only…I’ve heard this song before, and it sounds nothing like what I’m playing. I mean, I know I haven’t played this kind of music in a while, and my sight reading is a bit rusty, but…” The sentence faded and Blaine shook his head.

Kurt wanted Blaine to go back to bed, to get a good night’s sleep and look at the sheet music again in the morning with fresh, well-rested eyes, but he knew that Blaine wouldn’t sleep at all if he didn’t figure out the problem.

“Come on,” Kurt said, pulling Blaine upright by the shoulders. “Give it another try. Show me where you are in the music and I’ll follow along. We’ll figure this thing out together.”

“Alright,” Blaine said, sitting up straight and readjusting the bench beneath him to improve his posture. “I’m at this refrain,” he said, pointing to the sheet music. Kurt looked the six bars over and nodded, giving Blaine the go-ahead to start.

Blaine played the notes, and from the first chord Kurt knew something was wrong. He eyed the notes in the bars as Blaine played them, trying to tap along with the beat, but the resulting mess was far from euphonic.

Blaine ended the refrain with the same, “ _Plunk_ – fuck!” that he had every time he played it.

Blaine dropped his hands from the keyboard when he was through, his head slumping forward and landing on the keys with a sharp jumble of tones.

“I suck!” Blaine mumbled. “I’ve lost it, and I suck, and no amount of sleep is going to fix it. I can’t resolve that Goddamned augmented chord!”

Kurt bent down over Blaine’s bowed head and kissed the back of his neck, stealing a closer view at the refrain. He squinted his eyes and peered at the notes, smiling when he discovered the problem.

“That’s because it’s _not_ an augmented chord,” Kurt said. Blaine lifted his head up as Kurt reached out, grabbed the pages of music, and flipped them right side up.

Blaine sat up again, his cheeks turning red, and played the new refrain, sighing in relief when the harmonies resolved.

A much more pleasant chord dissolved into the air, and Blaine looked up sheepishly as Kurt.

“Maybe I should get a few more hours of sleep,” he said, pushing away from the bench and standing up.

“Good call,” Kurt said, taking him by the shoulders and steering him back to the futon in the studio, “good call.”


	25. Souffle Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Blaine the sub likes to misbehave to get Kurt to punish him.
> 
> Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompts ‘cloud’ and ‘dessert’, but mostly ‘dessert’.

Kurt’s first soufflé fell victim to an impromptu game of indoor football that found three kids scrambling for a touchdown in his kitchen.

“Sorry, Uncle Kurt,” Finn called over his shoulder as he grabbed the football and led the girls out the door, “but it’s Uncle Blaine’s fault. He tossed the ball in here.”

Kurt trained murderous eyes on Blaine who simply winked, then shrugged, and disappeared with the kids out the door back to the living room.

Kurt’s second and third soufflé (he felt it safer to make two at once in case something happened to one of them) both went completely belly-up when Barbra came in to the kitchen to show Kurt how well she was doing in her adaptive tap dance class. After her sprightly rendition of _The Cat Scratch Rag_ , Kurt checked on his desserts with a heavy heart to see them both caved in.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Kurt,” Barbra said as Kurt pulled his ruined soufflés out of the oven. “I would have waited till later to show you, except Uncle Blaine said it was imper…impera…imperative that you see it right now.”

“That’s alright, Barbra,” Kurt said to the little girl. “You did nothing wrong. And your routine was inspiring.” Barbra looked up at Kurt, her bright smile and shining eyes so reminiscent of Rachel Berry that it made Kurt’s heart twist. He smoothed down her hair with his hand, swept up in the nostalgia of the moment, until he remembered his two razed soufflés on the kitchen island. “I’m just going to go have a talk with your Uncle Blaine.”

Kurt took Barbra’s hand and stormed into the living room, where Blaine was busy setting up another game with the kids, a devious little grin on his tempting lips.

“Hey, kids,” Kurt said when he entered, eyes completely fixed on his unruly sub - since that was the face that Blaine wore, “why don’t you guys wait for your Uncle Blaine out in the backyard? I need to have a _word_ with him.”

Barbra, Eva, and Elphaba might not have understood that sharp tone in Kurt’s voice yet, but Finn sure as heck did. He gathered the girls and took them to the backyard without question, shooting one last glance at Blaine, hoping they’d see him again soon.

“Kurt?” Blaine said with a look of mock surprise. “Is there something…”

Kurt pushed Blaine to the sofa and climbed over him, one knee to Blaine’s chest pinning him to the cushions, his hand curled into the collar of Blaine’s shirt with a knuckle pressed against his throat, constricting his breathing.

“We have fifty people showing up in four short hours,” Kurt growled, bending low and speaking straight into Blaine’s mouth, “and I haven’t had the chance to clean or decorate or bathe yet. All I asked you to do was occupy the kids, and you’ve managed to destroy three soufflés in the process.”

Blaine opened his mouth to speak, but Kurt snapped at his lip quickly and bit it hard to keep him quiet.

“Now, I am going to put one more soufflé in the oven, and then I’m going to shower. You and the kids will play outside. If anything happens to my dessert, Blaine Devon Anderson, punishment will be swift and severe. Do you understand?”

Blaine didn’t speak, only nodded his head, with a playful glimmer in his eyes that made Kurt wary. But Kurt couldn’t deal with him now. He was behind schedule. Soon the house would be filled with friends and family celebrating the pre-release of Blaine’s new album. Adam’s family was coming in, and also Dave’s dad. He had promised Dave, who was beside himself with nerves, a nice night – hence Kurt’s special chocolate soufflé.

Kurt climbed off his sub, thinking that he probably would have better luck caging Blaine like a naughty puppy, and laughed at the image of a naked Blaine, ball-gagged and hog-tied in a black training crate.

He would need to discuss that image with Blaine as soon as it was appropriate.

Kurt got out of his shower twenty minutes later in a far better mood – though his mood would have probably improved magnanimously if he had just left the children to their own devices and dragged Blaine in the shower with him.

Probably far less chance of his soufflé being demolished, too.

But he trusted Blaine the adult to be a good boy and do as he was told.

When he entered the living room, everyone was quiet, sitting on the sofa and watching a movie – Barbara and Elphaba cuddled together, Finn sitting on the edge of the couch cushion with his elbows propped on his knees and his hands locked beneath his chin, and Eva sitting in Blaine’s lap, her hand curled into his shirt, leaning her head on his shoulder and sucking her thumb.

It was all very picturesque and sane…and calm…too calm.

Kurt saw the children relaxing, but Blaine seemed stiff, with that playful glimmer still dancing his eyes, and Kurt felt his body freeze.

“No, no, no, no…” Kurt mumbled, racing past the group and into the kitchen. He tiptoed as best he could across the tile floor, but he knew it was useless. His heart sank into his stomach, exactly the way he suspected his soufflé had. Switching on the oven light, he knew he was right. Instead of a fluffy dessert, puffed up like a chocolate cloud, he saw another flat-as-a-pancake deflated mess. He heard the kitchen door open and close behind him as someone else entered the room, and Kurt’s hands balled into fists. Kurt turned off his oven in defeat of his last destroyed soufflé. He could probably manage some sort of passable dessert with the remains, but before that, he had discipline to attend to. He stood up straight and turned around to see Blaine leaning against the kitchen wall - Blaine his sub, with eyes full of innocent mischief, a sly smile shadowing the corner of his mouth.

“So,” Blaine said, countering Kurt’s burning gaze, “you mentioned something about punishment?”


	26. Saying Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has something to be thankful for at Kurt and Blaine's first Thanksgiving with Dave, the kids, and all of their friends. But while Finn Jr. is staring down the food like a panther ready to pounce, one Hudson child has a little more to be thankful for than the rest of the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompt ‘grace’.

“Why do we  _havta_  say grace?” Finn moaned. He slumped down in his chair, arms thrown across his chest, eyeing the casserole dish of marshmallow-topped sweet potatoes on the table in front of him with hungry eyes.

 _Every inch his father’s son_ , Kurt couldn’t help thinking, even as Finn kicked his chair beneath the table – an obnoxious habit that Kurt had begged him time and time again to stop.

“Because Thanksgiving is about being thankful,” Kurt explained, “and it’s nice to remind ourselves what we have to be thankful for.”

“Can’t we remind ourselves quietly in our heads while we eat our food?” Finn whined, eyes shifting one plate over to covet Kurt’s homemade pecan pie.

“Don’t worry, Finn.” Adam came up behind the boy and put both hands on his shoulders. “We’ll try to make this as quick and painless as possible.”

“Not me,” Blaine countered, dropping his fingers into Finn’s ribs and tickling him until the boy reluctantly barked out a laugh. “I’ve been taking inventory of the dishes, the cups, the bowls, and the silverware. I intend on being thankful for each and every piece.”

“Uncle Blaine!” Finn whined louder, training a longing gaze at the turkey.

“Yup,” Blaine said. “I’ve named every single one. Your plate is Fred, Kurt’s plate is Ginger, mine is Kathleen …”

“You are so weird, Uncle Blaine,” Finn interrupted before Blaine could move on to name the next place setting. Blaine tousled Finn’s hair, and Finn continued his sighing, staring at the ham like a famished hyena.

Blaine picked Eva up and plopped her in the seat beside his. He waited till Finn and Kurt adverted their eyes before grabbing a snowman cookie and passing it beneath the table to the giggling girl.

The whole family gathered around the table – Kurt beside Blaine, who sat in the seat next to Eva; Dave with Elphaba on his lap and Adam by his side; Nick, Jeff, and Hunter (who were as much family as everyone else), then Barbra, and Finn, who sulked as people focused more on talking and joking with one another than the business of saying grace so that he could finally eat.

When Finn’s low moans of hunger became too pitiful to be ignored, Kurt stood and shushed everyone.

“I would like to say on behalf of Dave and myself that we are so tremendously grateful to have you all here at our table with us celebrating this holiday.” Kurt smiled warmly at the many faces that greeted him (as well as the top of Finn’s head, since his forehead was pressed against the tablecloth as the child wallowed in starvation). “There are many faces missing from our table tonight …” Kurt looked at Dave, and then the children, with unshed tears in his eyes “… but there’s a lot of new faces here, too. And more than enough love to go around.” Blaine reached up and held Kurt’s hand. Nick raised a hand to his own cheek and wiped away a tear, leaning his head against his fiancé’s shoulder. “I am thankful this year for my wonderful family, and that we’re all still alive and well, that we have our new friends together with us in this beautiful house …” Kurt gazed down at the man planting light kisses to the back of his hand, “and I’m thankful for Blaine Anderson.”

A collective  _aww_  went around the table as Kurt sat down and kissed Blaine, a few small tears staining his cheeks.

Finn moaned.

Blaine didn’t stand since Eva had climbed into his lap, so he held her tight with one hand and continued to hold Kurt’s hand with the other.

“Ok,” Blaine said, “well obviously I’m thankful that Jeff finally got his head out of his butt and asked Nick to marry him so I don’t have to listen to  _that_  drama anymore …” The adults laughed. The girls tittered over Blaine’s use of the word  _butt_.

Again, Finn moaned.

“I’m also thankful for my great new family …” Blaine hugged Eva tight “… my darling Daisy and Elphie and Barbra and Finn. I’m thankful for my new best friend, Dave, and his boyfriend Adam, who was nice enough to brave our crazy to join us for this dinner.” Blaine took a deep breath, trying to continue without getting too emotional. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a family around him to celebrate the holidays. “I’m thankful for having the reclusive Hunter with us, and all of his help with Eva and Barbra …” Blaine turned his eyes to Kurt, who smiled at him as if he was the only person in the world. “And I’m thankful for Kurt Hummel.”

Another  _aww_  went up, followed by another moan.

“Come on, Daisy” - Blaine kissed Eva on the cheek - “what are you thankful for?”

Eva looked around the table at the eyes watching her, then stuck her thumb in her mouth and ducked her head into Blaine’s shirt.

“I’m thankful for Blaine and for everybody,” Eva sputtered, squeezing her eyes shut to block everyone else out while she spoke. “And I’m thankful for the food.”

“Food that nobody’s going to eat,” Finn muttered.

Dave tried to shoot Finn a glare but he couldn’t. Finn’s father would have been stealing rolls between speeches. The thought of Finn Sr., chipmunk-esque cheeks conspicuously stuffed with bread, made Dave smile.

“I’m grateful for my family,” Dave said, “for all our new friends, for the chance to go back to school and make something of my life …” Dave glanced at Blaine, giving him a crooked half-smile and a nod, which Blaine returned from behind Eva’s curls, “and I’m grateful that I found Adam.”

Adam put an arm around Dave’s shoulders when he addressed the table, though he spoke mostly to Dave.

“All of my family is back in Essex, so I’m grateful to be invited to this amazing feast … and I’m grateful for Dave.”

Dave leaned in to kiss Adam quickly, but Adam held him tighter and kissed him deeper. The adults whooped and hollered while the kids made faces.

Except for Finn, who resorted to weeping.

“Well” - Nick cleared his throat and sat up straight - “I’m thankful, of course, for my fabulous bestie,  _Kurt,_ and our amazing Blaine 2.0, which we wouldn’t have if not for  _Kurt_ , and these adorable kids in our lives to hang out with, again, because of _Kurt_ …” Jeff rolled his eyes. Kurt, with bashful pink cheeks, snickered “… and Hunter and Dave and Adam, and this amazing food …”

Nick paused dramatically. Finn filled it with the sound of pathetic crying.

“And I’m thankful for my wonderful fiancé” - he turned to face Jeff - “who has been my best friend for the whole of my life, and who I get to keep now forever.”

“And I’m thankful for  _my_  wonderful fiancé, Nick, who was never in any danger of losing me, ring or not,” Jeff said, looking deep into Nick’s eyes as he closed in to kiss him, “and for the rest of you all, too,” he added before his lips brushed over Nick’s.

“There’s so much kissing going on,” Kurt whispered to Blaine.

“Oh, not nearly enough,” Blaine claimed, then leaned over to kiss Eva on the cheek. She squealed sufficiently, then turned around and kissed him back.

When the kissing was done, all eyes moved to Hunter.

“I’m thankful for you guys,” Hunter said, waving a dismissive hand, not one for emotional displays, “and for not having to eat pizza today.”

Barbra shifted in her seat, knowing she was next. She looked from face to face around the table, all smiling at her encouragingly, except for Finn, who continued to fake weep softly.

“I’m thankful for Uncle Kurt,” she began slowly, looking at the people she named as she spoke, “and Uncle Blaine, and Eva, and baby Elphaba, and Uncle Dave, and Uncle Adam, and Uncle Nick, and Uncle Jeff, and Uncle Hunter; I’m thankful for mom and dad in heaven, for grandma and grandpa in Ohio, and other grandpa in Ohio, and two other grandpas in Greece; I’m thankful for my brand new bedroom, and my new school.” She paused a moment to catch her breath. Kurt thought she was done, but before he could turn the floor over to Finn, she began again. “I’m thankful that everyone seems happier than they did in San Diego, and that we have all these people to spend time with us, like when Uncle Dave’s at school, or when Uncle Kurt and Uncle Blaine play hide and seek in their bedroom …” Blaine turned quickly and snorted into Kurt’s shoulder while Kurt fought to keep a straight face. “I’m thankful for taking tap lessons and for Eva’s new cat Brian, and I’m thankful that we have a van that doesn’t smell like dog pee even though we never had a dog …” Jaws around the table dropped as Barbra continued. Even Finn stare at her in awe. “I’m thankful that when Ms. Unique sent me that bag of caramels, she sent one to everyone so I wouldn’t have to share, even though my bag had four more than everybody else’s; I’m thankful that  _Disney on Ice_  is coming to L.A. in December and that Uncle Blaine promised to take us; and that Uncle Kurt lets Uncle Nick put makeup on my face, even though we agreed that it has nothing to do with my worth as a person; and that MAC makes a foundation that matches my compli … complica … complicated skin tone. Amen.”

Barbra sat up straight with her hands folded in her lap and let out a deep sigh, relaxed now that she was through.

Stunned, Kurt looked at Blaine. They both looked at Dave. And then everyone looked across the table at each other.

Finally, Kurt turned his eyes to the eldest Hudson child. “Finn? It’s your turn.”

Finn, just about near his breaking point and staring down the turkey like it was soon to be his first kill, growled in frustration.

“What she said. I can’t follow that!” he proclaimed, leaping across the table and grabbing a drumstick. “Now, let’s eat!”

 


	27. Gift Wrap Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt gets frustrated wrapping presents for the kids and wants to throw in the towel, but his sub Blaine gives him motivation to finish.
> 
> Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble Prompt ‘zigzag’.

“That’s it! I’m done! I can’t do this anymore!” Kurt exclaimed, throwing down his scissors and his tape, growling in frustration at the stack of unwrapped toys that have defeated him. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing them hard to get them to focus normally again since they have been staring at Barbie- and Transformer- themed Christmas wrapping paper for the past six hours.

“But we only have about twenty-two presents left to go,” Blaine yawned, setting down his pair of scissors and tilting his head up to blink the pink Barbie haze from his own exhausted eyes.

“I don’t care!” Kurt said, struggling to unwind from his cross-legged position on the floor and attempting to stand, one arm supporting his aching back while the other clawed at the sofa, searching out support for his locked knees. “We’ve already put together one doll house, three bicycles, and a basketball hoop! This is getting ridiculous! Every muscle in my body hurts and my eyes are doing a weird _zigzaggy_ thing…” Kurt made a z-shaped motion with his index fingers to indicate the batty way his eyes had started to roll in his head on their own. “I mean, who bought the kids all these presents anyway?”

Blaine looked up at Kurt, raising an eyebrow in silent response to his dom’s question.

Kurt caught Blaine’s look and sighed.

“Okay, okay, _I_ bought most of the presents,” Kurt admitted, bending backward to stretch his spine and rubbing frantically at his sore hips as his back cracked, “and maybe I got a little carried away. I didn’t imagine it would take this long to wrap presents for four kids. It never has before.”

Kurt didn’t want to mention that that was because they didn’t have the money to buy the kids so many presents before. While he was in the throes of retail euphoria, Kurt had felt like he was making up for the years of poverty he had put the kids through. Now it just seemed a tiny bit gluttonous.

“Well, maybe you could put the rest of the toys away for birthdays? Or next Christmas?” Blaine suggested, rising to his feet slowly amidst a pile of unassembled doll furniture and partially wrapped Play-Doh containers.

Kurt looked at the toys strewn about the living room floor waiting to be wrapped, quietly assessing each one, and shook his head.

“No,” he concluded, “you know how quickly kids’ tastes change. Best to give them to the kids nooooow…” Kurt yawned. He stretched his arms over his head, his limbs and his back extending as far as they could go, maybe an inch or two further. Blaine stole the opportunity to watch Kurt’s shirt rise up his taut stomach, exposing the defined V-cut of his muscles as they dipped down into his loose pajama pants. Blaine licked his lips, an image of exactly what hid beneath those thin cotton pants leaping vividly to his mind.

Blaine didn’t feel right getting a boner on Christmas Eve surrounded by children’s toys, but his reaction to his dom’s incredible body was pretty much ingrained in his every cell by now. He couldn’t stop himself from getting hard at the sight of Kurt’s flawless skin or his muscular, trim form if he tried.

Kurt squeezed his eyes tight and shook his head, staving off the onset of delirium. “Okay,” he said, blowing a breath past his lips, “I can do this. I can do this. We’re at the home stretch. I just need some motivation.”

“Motivation, huh?” Blaine said. He bit his lip and walked toward the tree – a towering nine foot Douglas fir covered in mostly the kids’ handmade ornaments – picking up a present near the front. Blaine held it in both hands - long and flat, wrapped in iridescent gold paper. “How about I give you a little motivation?”

Kurt looked at the gift, but in particular at the way Blaine turned it over in his hands by one end and seemed to strain slightly beneath its weight. Kurt’s eyes lit up when it dawned on him what must be hiding beneath the sparkly, shimmery paper.

“Is that…did you buy me…a paddle?” Kurt reached out a hand for the gift, but Blaine pulled it a little out of his reach.

“ _Maybe_ I did,” Blaine said boldly, his sly smirk countering the commanding glimmer in Kurt’s eyes. “And _maybe_ I got it inscribed. The faster we get these last presents wrapped, the faster you find out.”

Kurt smiled, eyes bouncing from the present in Blaine’s hands to Blaine’s darkening eyes.

“Fine,” Kurt said, backing away toward his unfinished wrapping, “but I don’t think you’re going to be smiling after I get my hands on that paddle.”

“Something tells me I will,” Blaine said beneath his breath as he placed the present back under the tree and returned to his own stack of unwrapped toys.

Kurt rolled his wrapping paper out on the floor and started to cut, sliding the blades of his scissors swiftly through the paper and tragically, right through poor Barbie’s face. Halfway through his sheet of wrapping paper, Kurt’s scissors stopped cutting, and he turned to face Blaine, sticking tape onto a seam.

“Were you…going to let me open that in front of the kids?” Kurt asked.

Blaine didn’t answer - the smile on his face and the growing red flush on his cheeks answering for him.

“Ooo, you are going to get it, Blaine Anderson,” Kurt said with a click of his tongue and sounding thoroughly amused. “You are going to get it _good_.”


	28. Wrap You Up in My Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Blaine has nightmares about the day his parents turned their backs on him for coming out, but his dom is always there to let him know he’s loved, even in his sleep.
> 
> Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompt ‘please’.

“Pl…please…” Blaine whimpered, trapped in sleep, tossing left and right, kicking out with his feet as if he was trying to run after someone. “Pl…please…listen…please…” He raised his arms, lifting the blankets off his body, reaching out to grab hold, but his hands always closed on air. The people Blaine begged to weren’t listening. They didn’t listen. They stopped listening the moment Blaine came out.

The people in Blaine’s dreams – his mom and his dad – turned their backs on him and stopped listening, stopped loving, stopped treating him like their son.

That didn’t mean that _no one_ was listening. Kurt listened. From the moment the first mumbled plea slipped past Blaine’s lips, Kurt pulled himself awake to lay by Blaine’s side and listen to every word. Kurt listened and he remembered everything about those terrible nightmares – the sound of pain and desperation in Blaine’s voice, his adolescent tone, the way his face crumbled when his regressed self realized that his parents weren’t coming back, that they weren’t willing to accept him.

These nightmares were rare – actually, almost non-existent now that Blaine had Kurt and his new family in his life – but sometimes they returned, and Blaine was powerless to fight them.

Before he had Kurt, Blaine drank the nightmares away.

Kurt stayed awake and waited, watching with tears in his eyes, until Blaine stopped struggling, stopped kicking – when he surrendered to the grief and started to break down. Kurt took his comforter and wrapped it around Blaine’s body, sneaking it underneath him and tucking the ends around him like a cocoon – pulling it tight to make him feel swaddled and safe. And then Kurt held him in his arms, enveloped him in his warmth and his care, surrounded him in the tremendous love and respect he had for his beautiful lover, his amazingly strong and compassionate sub.

“It’s alright, Blaine,” Kurt whispered in a calm and even voice to settle Blaine’s quiet cries. “It’s going to be alright. I’m with you and I love you. You never have to beg for love again.”


	29. Wrapped in Leather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine wants Kurt to make him a pair of leather pants so tight that Kurt has to sew him into them, but beneath his request, he's nervous about his first live show - transitioning from TV star to singer. So Kurt tries to find a way to make Blaine forget about his nerves. 
> 
> Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompt ‘needle’.

Blaine held his breath and sucked in his stomach, straining to keep perfectly still. He stared at the ceiling, counting the tiles so he wouldn’t have to watch Kurt’s sickle-shaped needle stab into the smooth, luxe material currently stuck to his legs like a second skin. Even as he sucked in further and tried to elongate his body, creeping his farther and farther away from the bitter point, Blaine could feel the cold metal brush against his thigh in rhythmic swipes. It sent cold chills circulating all over; put vivid images in his head, especially as it inched closer to his junk; and made him rubbery in the knees.

It was slightly unnerving, to say the least.

But Kurt was quick with his needlework, and if there was anyone on earth that Blaine trusted with a thick, sharp needle millimeters from his most sensitive body part, it was his Dom. Blaine focused on not shaking and not sweating, since sweat and leather didn’t go too well together. His abs cramped, and he was starting to become ridiculously light-headed when he felt Kurt tie off the threads and heard him snip the ends.

“There,” Kurt said, double checking the visibility of his stitches while kneeling barely a breath away from Blaine’s _finer assets_ wrapped in supple, black, calfskin leather. “I can’t believe you actually wanted pants so tight I had to sew you into them.” Kurt stood, brushing off the knees of his own leg-hugging purple velvet pants (Blaine’s favorite), then stepping back to get the full effect of Blaine’s muscular lower half clad in leather.

“Well, it’s for the act,” Blaine said, explaining his fashion choice away with a hot blush tinting his cheeks. His eyes flicked up to meet Kurt’s gaze, searching for approval, but his blush deepened when he caught Kurt hungrily licking his lips. Blaine would do anything, wear anything, to have his Dom look at him that way – like he wanted to rip Blaine’s clothes off his body with his teeth, tie him to a chair and do whatever to him, however he wanted, with as much pain and pleasure as he could provide.

 _That_ was the black swan that Blaine fell in love with. No matter how long they’d been together, his swan never faded an inch, never slipped away.

“Holy _damn_ ,” Kurt growled, admiring Blaine’s body trapped in feloniously tight leather.

“What?” Blaine looked nervously down his legs, bending his knees and jumping a few times experimentally to ensure that none of the seams would split while he danced on stage.

“You can pretty much have sex through these pants.” Kurt walked over to his sub, hands caressing the air an inch or so around Blaine’s legs. Blaine could see Kurt’s hands shake, his fingers flexing, itching to touch him, and it filled Blaine with a unique feeling of power.

His Dom could look, but with a call time of less than ten minutes, he couldn’t touch.

“Well, I have to find a way to keep up with the younger guys,” Blaine said, not allowing that power to go to his head. The only power he had over his Dom was the power that Kurt allowed him to have. Blaine savored it, but he never abused it. It was part of the balance that kept their relationship alive – an exchange that was bred from love and inspired by passion.

It reminded Blaine how much Kurt truly cared about him.

“What makes you think that you can’t, Blaine? You don’t need anything but your voice and your charm to keep up. Your talent - that’s what’s going to put you on top. Not these pants.”

Blaine sighed, dropping his head and losing his smile to the anxiety building up within him. “I know,” he said, his voice timid, the way it became when he gave into fear, “it’s just … I’m starting a little late in the game, that’s all. Even with the name that I’ve made for myself on TV, I’ll still have to prove myself. Maybe _because_ of that name, I’ll have to prove myself _more_.”

“Blaine ...” Kurt held his sub’s shoulders, tried to catch his eyes “... that theater is filled from wall to wall with your fans. Fans who believe in you. Fans who already know how insanely talented you are. Fans that wouldn’t care if you went out there in a pair of Gucci jeans or a burlap sack.” Kurt’s hand left Blaine’s shoulder to cup his chin and pull his hazel eyes up to meet his. “They see in you all the wonderful, amazing things _I_ see in you. So go out there and sing for them. That’s all they want.”

Blaine smiled – a shy little smile that tried to grow in confidence but didn’t quite make it. “I---I’m still really nervous.”

“You know,” Kurt said, the smile on his lips quirking up at the corners in a mischievous way, “my father used to say that if you’re nervous, find someone to punch you in the gut really hard. Then you’ll be in agony, but you won’t be thinking about your nerves anymore.”

Blaine’s smile disappeared and he looked immediately green. “You’re … you’re not going to punch me, are you?”

“No.” Kurt chuckled, amused by Blaine’s assumption. He slipped into a lower, sultrier register – a register he not only reserved for the bedroom, but for his playroom as well. “But maybe I can think of some other ways to take your mind off your nerves.”

“Yeah?” Blaine watched Kurt’s lips close in on his, his eyes dark and lustful. “What did you have in mi---“

Blaine’s question cut off when Kurt’s lips touched his, his silky tongue sliding between – not shy, not apprehensive, not asking for permission, but taking what he knew belonged to him and only him. Kurt’s hands hovered over Blaine’s skin so that Blaine could feel his heat, but Kurt did not touch his sub.

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt whispered, the words tickling Blaine’s lips as they entered his mouth along with Kurt’s talented tongue. “What I wouldn’t do to you if I had you alone. If I had all the time in the world to devour you. I wouldn’t even need to take these pants off you …”

Blaine moaned, and Kurt stopped talking to catch it, covering Blaine’s mouth with his and kissing him again, deeper this time, teasing Blaine’s tongue with delicate swipes from his own. Kurt kept his lips against Blaine’s as he spoke so Blaine could feel Kurt’s words buzz against his mouth.

“I know you, Blaine …” Kurt snaked an arm around Blaine’s waist and dipped him low. “I know everywhere you like to be kissed …” Kurt proved his point by licking the hollow of Blaine’s throat, tracing a letter ‘s’ in the center with the tip of his tongue. He delighted in the way Blaine’s body trembled against him, his cock hardening in the confines of his sewed-on leather pants. “I know how to make you cum over and over with just my breath on your skin … I know how to make you wait … how long you can go before you start to beg … how much longer after that before you start to break …”

Blaine whimpered, hands coming up to grab Kurt’s arms, hips searching out Kurt’s body, wanting Kurt’s hard cock to slide against his own. Kurt looked into his sub’s face, deep into Blaine’s eyes with a smile that was both promising and cruel.

“There is no end,” Kurt whispered, staring at his sub, pliant in his arms, so desperate to be owned that his entire body yearned for it, “to the depths in which I want to have you, Blaine Devon Anderson.”

Blaine’s subsequent whine was muffled by Kurt’s mouth back over his, teeth biting Blaine’s lower lip until Blaine cried out, the sting of it nothing compared to the sinful way Kurt’s body met Blaine’s, sliding over him, making him harder, uncomfortably harder, but needing his Dom so much that minor pain or a smidge of discomfort meant nothing. It didn’t even exist.

“I love you, Kurt,” Blaine stammered, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“I love you, Blaine,” Kurt mumbled into Blaine’s skin, over and over so he’d feel it tingling against his cheeks and down his chin. He bit the words into Blaine’s lips, licked them down his neck, moving farther until he started to undo the buttons of Blaine’s shirt with his teeth. “And I always …”

_Knock-knock-knock_

The door to the dressing room shook with the pounding of a fist, the spell inside the room shattering with its unwelcome intrusion.

“Five minutes, Mr. Anderson,” an equally unwelcome voice called through the door.

Kurt smiled and stood Blaine upright, departing from the temptation of Blaine’s flushed skin and his swollen lips, holding his hips as his sub swayed on his feet.

“Now don’t be nervous,” Kurt said, backing away, glancing down one last time to admire his handiwork – not the pants this time – before he slipped out the dressing room door. He blew Blaine a kiss and disappeared down the hall, heading to the theater to claim his seat.

Blaine’s head spun from lack of blood, stuck in a cloud of confusion as his body slowly acknowledged the absence of sensation. He blinked a couple of times before he realized that Kurt was gone, but that wasn’t the most pressing of his problems.

The one tormenting him currently was engorged, and trying to break free of its leather enclosure.

It wasn’t a punch in the stomach, but it was doing the same job.

“Uh ...” Blaine scratched at the seams to his pants. “No, wait.” He searched the waist band with his fingers, trying to find a gap, any opening to stick his hand into to relieve him of his problem, but there was nothing - no way to reach his aching cock or tend to his swelling need. “I need a zipper or something. Kurt?” Blaine waddled to the dressing room door and opened it. He stuck just his head out (he didn’t want anyone else seeing him in the condition he was in), and looked up and down the hall. “Kurt? Kurt, please … help … _Kurt_!”

 


	30. Kurt's Dance of the Seven Scarves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt has a scarf obsession, which he introduces to Blaine by means of a demonstration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the advent drabble prompt 'scarf'.

A muted rustling sound, like the scratching of sandpaper against balsa wood, pick-pick-picked away at Blaine’s dreams, dragging him from his peaceful night’s sleep and stumbling into the present. The sound wasn’t loud, just a _scritch-scritch-scritch_ , as if an animal were sharpening its claws against the bedroom door. He wondered, while clinging to his dream of him and Kurt having unbridled sex in the backyard, if Eva’s cat Brian had slipped out of her room early looking for his breakfast and decided to summon Kurt, who was the only person willing to drag themselves out of a warm, comfortable bed to grant the bossy feline’s wishes.

Blaine stretched bent arms and crooked legs, reaching over to Kurt’s side of the bed to hold him and ask him if that’s what the sound was, but Kurt was gone. It took only a second for the message to reach his brain that he was feeling empty space under his palm where Kurt’s body should be and Blaine sat straight up in bed. Blaine blinked his sleep-drenched eyes and looked around the room, each blink bringing him closer to clarity, alternating between snapshots of the incredible dream he was leaving behind and the dark room around him.

The rustling noise became louder and his vision clearer every time he blinked his eyes. He didn’t see Kurt, but the door to the closet was open - a cardinal no-no since Kurt insisted it be closed every night before bedtime. Blaine took a closer look and caught sight of Kurt’s bare ass peeking out from beneath the row of hanging clothes. Blaine snickered, watching his dom’s pert tush wiggle as he crawled backward, dragging out a box with him.

“Wh-what are you doing, baby?” Blaine asked, covering his mouth with the back of his hand to conceal his yawn.

“Hmmm?” Kurt moved aside a pair of leather pants to look over his shoulder at his sub on the bed. Kurt’s usually perfect hair was rumpled, still mussed from the way Blaine had grabbed at it when they made love hours before; his face, left without its normal layer of foundation to even out his skin tone, glowed in the low light, revealing the natural beauty of the tawny freckles Kurt seemed to hate, but Blaine loved oh so much. Kurt was a different type of gloriously sexy during these early morning hours. This was the Kurt that no one saw, the Kurt that had yet to be photographed or his picture splashed across the pages of gossip mags all over the country.

This was _Blaine’s_ Kurt.

“Oh, I woke you,” Kurt said with a bit of regret, rising to his feet and lifting the box up in his arms. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think I would be that loud.”

“That’s okay,” Blaine said, nearly unable to make the words pass his lips as he fought off another yawn. “What’s in the box?”

Kurt’s answering smile was distant, but not sad. It was the same smile that crossed Kurt’s lips every time painfully sweet memories of the past popped into his head.

“Well, we’re going to that fundraiser tonight…” Kurt walked the box over to the bed. Blaine climbed down to meet him at the foot. “And there was a scarf I wanted to wear with that new suit I made.”

“So, the scarf’s in that box?” Blaine asked, rubbing his bleary right eye with the heel of his hand while Kurt smiled at Blaine’s sleepy observation.

“Actually,” Kurt said, patting the sides of the box with his hands, a fondly grinning, “ _all_ of my scarves are in here.”

Blaine’s waking brain considered Kurt’s words for a second, and then his eyes opened wide.

“You mean…this entire box is full of scarves?” Blaine asked, sizing up the box in amazement.

“Yup,” Kurt said, tearing the line of clear packing tape off the seam and opening the flaps. Blaine helped pull the flaps back and marveled at the mass of colored scarves inside – not twined and twisted together like snakes in a messy knot, but each one individually rolled up and placed neatly, lined up what looked at least ten rows deep.

“Oh…my…God…” Blaine muttered in awe at the spectacle before him. “Are these all…designer?”

“Yup,” Kurt said again, smiling with smug satisfaction at the expression of surprise on Blaine’s face.

“But…I don’t understand…” Blaine reached a hand out, but only let it hover, not wanting to disturb the perfection of Kurt’s collection. “You’re usually so…thrifty.”

“I’ve always been thrifty, but before I had the kids to take care of, I could be thrifty _and_ buy designer clothes,” Kurt explained, reaching for the scarves closest to him. “In fact, I had a closet that could rival yours.”

Blaine remembered snippets of that conversation, but the story of Kurt’s once exorbitant wardrobe and its fate had never been expressly brought up, and Blaine wasn’t going to pester his dom about it now.

“You definitely have a lot of them,” Blaine said, watching Kurt pull them out one by one and model them, holding them up to his neck and striking a pose.

“I kind of had a scarf obsession,” Kurt confessed. “I believe the right scarf can improve any outfit. Besides, they’re fashionable _and_ functional.” Kurt made this last point with a glint in his eyes as he carefully dug though his stash.

“Functional?” The word slipped from Blaine’s lips without him even considering the implications of that word in the context of _Kurt_.

Kurt raised an eyebrow, his smile transforming into a grin that was as playful as it was wicked, and Blaine knew that his black swan had an idea brewing.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Kurt said, putting the scarves down and taking Blaine’s hand, leading him off the bed to a nearby chair. “I’ll give you a small demonstration.”

Blaine followed his dom, intrigued, watching Kurt cover the seat in vinyl and then obediently settling into the vintage-inspired wingback chair, not flinching when his bare skin touched the chilly upholstery or catching his breath when sitting putting him within eye level of Kurt’s half-hard cock. Kurt didn’t need to hear his sub gasp. He knew what his body did to Blaine, how it affected him, how much Blaine craved touching him. But Blaine was a good boy; he was obedient. He would not touch unless told.

“Let me introduce you to a few of my favorites.” Kurt left Blaine in the chair and sauntered back to the bed, hips swaying with his steps, eyes bright with thoughts of his brilliant plan. “This…” Kurt said, holding up a cerulean blue scarf decorated with a sprinkling of white polka-dots, focusing on the fabric more than on the reaction of his sub, “is by Dolce and Gabbana. And this…” he held up another distressed-looking scarf, grunge chic, in shades of dark olives and browns with hints of industrial yellow, blue, and white, “is from Oliver Spencer.”

He carried the scarves back to where Blaine sat and, without a glance at Blaine’s face, without acknowledging the simmer of lust in his honey colored eyes, began tying Blaine’s wrists to the arms of the chair. Blaine watched, silently obedient, trying to restrain the automatic response of his cock that longed to leap up at the thought of being bound, not by leather or metal cuffs, but by Kurt’s favorite designer scarves.

Kurt checked the knots, knowing they wouldn’t need to be too tight. Blaine didn’t need the fabric holding him to the chair. He simply needed the mental boundary of the material and what it represented.

Kurt returned to the bed and the box of scarves. He lifted out another in blue, black, and grey flannel print.

“This one…” He slid the fabric between his index and middle fingers, and then pulling it taut to hold it out on display, “I bought this with my first paycheck as a dom. It’s from Begg and Co. And this…” He brought up an ombre-painted scarf, the fabric graduating in hues of blue from sky to navy from one end to the other, “is Paul Smith.” He carried these two over to Blaine, not masking the smile he wore and staring straight into his sub’s eyes, delighting in the way the perfect bands of gold that were Blaine’s irises became narrow rings as his pupils opened wide. Kurt kneeled at Blaine’s feet, maintaining that eye contact as he bound Blaine’s ankles. He put firm hands on Blaine’s knees and pushed them far apart, spreading his legs wide, watching Blaine’s cock to make certain his sub was keeping his urges in line.

“Good boy,” Kurt purred, knowing that in Blaine’s chest, his heart thrummed, in his brain, his sub side fought his body to remain obedient. Kurt enjoyed this battle that he knew raged inside his sub’s body – not in a cruel way, but in a triumphant way. Blaine needed control, not just here, in the bedroom, but in his day-to-day life. Blaine had never realized how much stress and anxiety had been an issue with him. He dealt with it in other self-destructive ways. But having Kurt around, having his dom with him to teach him about discipline and the limits of his own body and mind, helped him exist in the world now that he was finally cutting free of all his safety nets and venturing out on his own as an independent artist.

He might never have tried if it weren’t for Kurt. He would have tethered himself to _Sing_ until it tanked, dragging him and any reputation he had down along with it.

“All of my scarves are precious to me,” Kurt said, tying off the knot on Blaine’s left ankle, “each one unnecessarily expensive.” He stood and walked over to the bed, retrieving the scarf he knew waited for him next. “But this is, by far, the crowned jewel of my collection…” He held up a blacker than black scarf, silk screened with the suggestion of white skulls. “Alexander McQueen,” he said with pride. “Highly sought after, very much discontinued, the very first scarf I ever owned.”

This scarf he carried over to Blaine and held before his eyes so that he could have a chance to admire the delicate details. He saw Blaine swallow, gazing at the fabric with an expression that bordered on confusion and a touch of acceptance.

Blaine might not know what was going on, but he had given himself to Kurt – heart, body, and soul. It was expected that any moment could turn into a scene and Blaine’s devotion to the man holding the scarf in front of his eyes was absolute.

That utter trust and devotion was all it took to make Kurt completely hard with want, and as he walked around naked in front of his sub, his erection on display, he did so without any shame.

Kurt needed to exercise control over his mind and body in other ways. _This_ was not one of them.

He placed the scarf over Blaine’s eyes, wrapping it around his head and tying it at the back. He stepped back to admire the view of his gorgeous Blaine, tied up in his favorite wingback chair using five of the most irreplaceable scarves he’d ever owned.

The urge to touch himself with this vision in front of him was pushing at the boundaries of his composure, the need to climb up on that chair and fuck Blaine’s tantalizing bow-shaped mouth taxing every muscle in his effort to keep himself calm.

He had to turn away, had to return to his box of scarves and let his breathing come back to normal, or else this would be over too quickly. He pulled out two final scarves with much less ceremony than the others, eager to get his mouth on his sub.

“Now these scarves…the two that you can’t see,” Kurt said, returning to Blaine’s side and running the scarves in succession over Blaine’s neck, sliding them smoothly across his skin. “I made these. They’re nothing special really – one’s blue silk, the other red, but for what I have in mind, they’re definitely the most important of the bunch.”

Kurt heard Blaine swallow again, saw his mouth open, his lower lip tremble, his jaw working to keep his tongue from speaking when he was not yet given permission.

“Was there something you wanted to say, sweetheart?” Kurt asked, confident that he knew the question clinging to Blaine’s lips. “You have permission to speak freely…for now…”

“Wh---what are you going to do with those, sir?” Blaine asked, chasing the sensation of silk against his skin as it trailed along his cheek.

“You’ll see,” Kurt teased, dragging the scarves lower down Blaine’s body, dropping them down his bare chest to pool in his lap, draping across his cock that ached to stand erect. “Or more to the point, you _won’t_ see,” Kurt added with a laugh.

Kurt knelt between Blaine’s legs and picked up the scarves, removing all sensation for a second, letting Blaine simmer with the memory of silk against his skin. Blaine’s cock hardened in anticipation and Kurt decided he would allow it. Watching it grow, Kurt helped it along, putting his open mouth to it, and without touching his lips to it, he blew a breath of hot air over Blaine’s shaft.

“Nngh!” Blaine’s breathing shuddered. His fingers moved restlessly, bending and straightening, and then drumming on the armrest.

“No, no, no, sweetheart,” Kurt said, speaking with his mouth beside Blaine’s thigh so his sub could feel how close Kurt was, where his mouth was in relation to his bobbing cock. Blaine’s fingers stilled, but Kurt saw the tension in his knuckles where they curled around the arm rest, at war with keeping from moving again.

“Perfect, sweetheart,” Kurt mumbled into his skin. “You are absolutely perfect. Now sit tight and don’t move…and from now on, mouth closed…no speaking…”

Kurt brought the first scarf up Blaine’s skin, sliding it slowly over his thighs one at a time then slipping it beneath Blaine’s tightened balls. He pulled the scarf back and forth, letting the soft material caress Blaine’s ball sack, then up to the thin, sensitive skin that connected it to his body. Blaine whimpered through pressed lips, straining to stay still per his dom’s command as the silky scarf stroked him over and over with every pass, mercilessly trying to cull a moan from his throat.

“Good boy,” Kurt praised, not stopping for a moment to give Blaine any rest, moving the scarf a hair faster, sliding it smoothly but adding more friction.

Blaine’s muffled groan of pleasure mixed with the frustration of having his lips locked by Kurt’s command was the most delicious sound Kurt had heard in days.

“Now, that’s scarf number one,” Kurt said, dropping the ends and giving Blaine a much needed breather before he began again. “Scarf number two I’ll use like this…” Kurt picked up the second scarf, an end in each hand, and used it to massage Blaine’s throbbing shaft. At the first touch of silk wrapping gently around his member, he squealed, trapping his moans deep in the back of his throat, resisting the urge to throw his head over the edge of the chair and arch his back, to thrust his hips up to get more than just the delicate strokes of silk lightly touching his trembling skin.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” Kurt purred, watching the muscles on Blaine’s inner thigh twitch as he struggled with himself to hold still while Kurt played. Kurt _loved_ to play and Blaine was his favorite toy. Kurt leaned in close, inching up Blaine’s thigh to lick at the spot where those muscles danced beneath Blaine’s skin while he fiddled with the scarf right beneath the head of his cock.

Kurt heard the quick scrape of Blaine’s blunt nails dig into the arm of the chair before he remembered himself and forced his fingers straight, to relax and follow the curl of the wood. Kurt continued to lick, his tongue moving closer and closer to the neglected base of Blaine’s member.

When Kurt’s hot, velvety tongue touched the tender skin between Blaine’s balls and his erection, with the silk scarf coiling along his shaft, he nearly screamed.

“Good boy,” Kurt hummed between licks, occasionally lapping underneath Blaine’s balls, taking them into his mouth one at a time and suckling gently around them. “Stay nice and still.”

Kurt sucked and licked and hummed, toying with the scarf, coiling it around Blaine’s skin, pulling it quickly, pulling it slowly, and while he did, Blaine whined. Blaine mewled pathetically, like something helpless, suffering, which he was, but in the best way. Hiding behind Kurt’s favorite scarf, his eyes squeezed shut, Blaine wouldn’t sacrifice a single second of it. This was his life. This was what he wanted. Kurt liked to torment him, but Kurt also loved him – he told Blaine, showed him, every day – and this journey was for Blaine.

Kurt sat back on his knees and Blaine let out a huge breath, gasping for air, his aching cock leaking at the tip, the whole of his penis flushed a deep red – deeper than Kurt had even seen.

“That’s my good boy,” Kurt murmured, dropping the scarf but licking Blaine’s cock at the tip, gathering the pearl of moisture on his tongue before taking his sub down his throat. This was familiar, this was an agony that Blaine could relax into, no matter how much his body screamed to break free and fuck Kurt’s mouth, to slam his cock down his dom’s throat – something Blaine did rarely and gently so as not to ruin Kurt’s beautiful singing voice.

Kurt pulled off, licking his lips and admiring the obedience of his sub, who sat quietly and took what Kurt dished out. But Kurt was about to up the ante, hoping that he could get his compliant little boy to break – and not the kind of break that let Blaine disappear into his carefully crafted sub-space, but the kind of break that Kurt and Blaine relished the most.

The kind that led to punishment…and more play.

All Kurt needed to do was get Blaine to say something, _anything_ so long as it was a word.

Kurt looked at the two scarves and smiled.

“Now, this is the tricky part,” Kurt said, picking up both sets of ends together, positioning the scarves so that he could manipulate them both at once – one along the bottom of Blaine’s balls, the other over the shaft of his cock. Kurt pulled the scarves left, then brought them back right. Blaine’s bare feet came down flat on the floor, his whole body shaking, his wrists vibrating with the effort not to pull on Kurt’s precious scarves. Blaine groaned, his moans desperate as Kurt slid the scarves, unable to talk or scream out loud, unwilling to break any of Kurt’s rules. But the sensation of soft silk on his skin, the way it never stopped touching, never stopped moving, never stopped with its silken caress… all Blaine wanted to do was cum, but he hadn’t been given permission. He was close, so close, but Kurt was a patient dom. He could kneel on the floor and do this to Blaine for hours, as long as he liked the noises Blaine made.

“You’re so good,” Kurt murmured, licking long stripes from Blaine’s knees to his inner thigh, making Blaine jump slightly. Kurt knew what Blaine wanted – to be bound up tighter in leather or metal cuffs, to be given no choice but to obey. These scarves were barely passable bindings. Blaine’s bondage at this moment was more mental in nature.

It’s something that Blaine had become better at handling, but that he still struggled with.

Kurt was going to make him struggle a bit more, make it harder, push his mind and his body with his need to obey.

Kurt stroked Blaine’s skin with the scarves, looking up, wishing he could see his sub’s golden eyes, dark from the pressure of trying to resist his body’s urges, his need to move, to buck, to fuck Kurt in any way possible. Kurt saw sweat bead along Blaine’s brow, the skin wrinkling as it furrowed.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Kurt muttered, planting kisses along Blaine’s cock, brushes from his lips that followed the movement of the scarves. Blaine cried behind his clenched teeth at Kurt’s sinful touches, each kiss different – one a peck of his lips, another followed by a swipe of his tongue, one almost entirely tiny circles with the tip of his tongue playing at the underside of Blaine’s head.

Kurt watched Blaine fight not to squirm at the touch of his lips or the incessant smooth glide of the fabric back and forth, back and forth. Kurt was proud of his sub’s restraint, but he needed to do something to get this moving along. He took Blaine completely in his mouth, almost entirely down his throat, and pulled back up, sucking hard.

It was a dirty trick, Kurt knew, but he wasn’t trying to be cruel, not intentionally setting Blaine up to fail, though it might seem otherwise. Blaine always said that he was constantly looking to push his boundaries, to find his limits and exceed them.

How else would he learn to make his body ignore its nature and obey Kurt instead?

Blaine sputtered, reaching a point where everything inside him simply shattered, unable to handle the perfect heat of Kurt’s mouth along with the constant attention to his balls and shaft. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out, but that did nothing to stop him from cumming down Kurt’s throat.

Kurt pulled off quickly, not giving Blaine the satisfaction of taking him all the way. He held Blaine’s cock against him, leaving his sub a mess and out in the cold.

“Oh, princess,” Kurt said, the mood shifting as he positioned Blaine’s cock to empty all over his sub’s stomach and his chest, “look what you’ve done. You know what you did wrong, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Blaine gasped, stilling his hips, his body rigid as he tried to recover. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”

“That’s a really nice apology, princess,” Kurt said, massaging Blaine’s cramping thighs, focusing on the areas that sent sparks racing back up to his exhausted, flaccid cock, “but I didn’t give you permission to speak.”

Blaine’s breath hitched. He closed his mouth tightly to keep from slipping up and saying anything else, but the damage had been done.

In his mind, not letting it show on his face, Blaine smiled.

“I know that you’re sorry,” Kurt said, not moving from his spot from the floor, not lifting a finger to untie the scarves that bound Blaine’s wrists or his ankles, “and I know that you’re trying so hard to be good.” Kurt grinned. Blaine could hear it in the sultry slide of Kurt’s voice against his skin. “Since we have time and since you’re already so gorgeously bound to my chair, I think I’m going to lick you clean…and then we can start all over again.”

 


	31. Working the Kinks Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dom Kurt helps sub Blaine work out his kinks...with an audience.

“How’s that, sweetheart?” Kurt purred, lips curling up at the corners in a grin of pure, wicked satisfaction as he dug his thumbs in and Blaine immediately squirmed beneath his touch.

“Oh God!” he moaned, biting his tongue against the pain. “Too much! It’s…it’s too much!”

“Oh, poor baby,” Kurt teased, refusing to let up. “Does that mean you want me to…”

“No! Don’t stop!” Blaine begged. “Please!”

Kurt chuckled, delighting in Blaine’s suffering. He obliged his sub’s whims, and Blaine grit his teeth as his Dom dug in harder. “Yes! Yes! Right there!” Blaine whimpered. “Right there, just…don’t stop! Don’t stop!”

“I won’t, baby,” Kurt promised, moving faster, circling harder, working at tense muscle until it became pliant under his fingers. He grabbed the plastic flip top bottle beside him, slicked up his fingers, and went back at his sub for more.

“You may want to hold your breath for this one, sweetheart,” Kurt whispered in Blaine’s ear, “because it’s really going to hurt this time.”

“Oh, God,” Blaine gasped, sucking in a breath and holding it, not sure this was what he wanted. But he’d asked for it. He’d been begging for it. And, want it or not, Kurt didn’t give him the chance to second guess. But the moment Kurt’s hands assaulted him again, Blaine knew he should never have had any doubts.

Kurt knew exactly what he was doing, exactly where to touch him, exactly how to manipulate his body to the greatest effect.

“Yes!” Blaine screamed, biting into the strap on his wrist to muffle his cries. Everything within him succumbed to Kurt, to his Dom, his lover, his friend. This was the gift that was Kurt. This was the talent he had, the power he wielded over Blaine. All that was tension inside Blaine relaxed, the pain passing the boundary into pleasure, until Blaine felt euphoric, and free to move again. “Oh, God, Kurt,” Blaine mumbled through labored breaths. “That was…that was incredible. Thank you for that.”

“No problem, sweetheart. It was my pleasure.” Kurt patted Blaine’s sore shoulder gently, and kissed him on the cheek. He grabbed his bottle of baby oil, wiped it down, and slipped it back into his pocket. Blaine moved his arm around carefully, forward and back, making sure he was good to go skating again.

“Okay, you guys ready to roll?” Blaine asked, glancing over at the four Hudson kids, all waiting in their skates and safety gear on the park grass for Blaine to be done; then at Dave and Adam, the couple staring back at their two friends with mixed expressions – Dave’s of mild discomfort, and Adam’s of amusement.

“Can’t you two do anything without it sounding sexual?” Dave asked, climbing unsteadily to his feet. His rollerblades slid back and forth, back and forth, and he almost dropped to the dirt.

“I think you already know the answer to that one,” Kurt chuckled, watching Adam help Dave to his feet and find his ground. Kurt stood and gave Blaine an arm up, taking a moment to go back over Blaine’s safety gear, re-tightening his knee and elbow pads, and re-adjusting his wrist guards, running a finger over the beautiful bite marks Blaine had made in the leather. He put Blaine’s helmet back on his head, and swatted him on the butt. “Now, get your ass going. And do me a favor.”

“What’s that, love?” Blaine looped his arms around Kurt’s waist, resisting the urge to squeeze Kurt’s ass in front of the kids.

“No more playing Ice Capades with the girls. I don’t think your shoulders can take it.”


	32. The Sub Beneath the Suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine gets stressed out after repeated press events and interviews for his new album start wearing him down, but luckily his Dom is there to make sure he keeps his cool.
> 
> Set in the future after the eventual end of Take Me Over, and written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompts time and underneath.

“How you holding up?” Kurt asked, handing a flute of champagne to Blaine, who had retreated off to one corner of the room, sneaking away from the limelight long enough to catch his breath.

“Is it time to go home yet?” Blaine sounded so much more like Kurt’s adorable submissive than up-and-coming rock star sensation Blaine Anderson that, despite the stress of the evening weighing him down, Kurt had to smile.

“That bad?” Kurt asked, watching Blaine drink down nearly half the glass of champagne in one gulp.

“I didn’t realize that these release parties could get any worse than the ones Brad ran for _Sing._ ” Blaine waved at a photog when they passed by, bothering the couple long enough to take a candid. “How long have we been here?”

“Ah, time, money, age, they’re just abstract concepts,” Kurt replied, diving in to his own flute of alcohol.

“Are you trying to tell me that I don’t want to know?”

“That’s right.”

“Oh, God.” Blaine sighed. “We’re going to grow old and die in here, aren’t we?”

“How long did you sign on to stay anyway?” Kurt asked. These P.R. commitments of Blaine’s were often fickle. Sometimes there was a set schedule of events with times meted out, and sometimes they were open ended. Parties like the one they were at fell somewhere in the middle. There were things Blaine was expected to do, but they weren’t exactly planned. They just happened when they happened. Technically, he could probably sneak away and let his team come up with an appropriately vague excuse for him: family commitments, unexpected emergency, seasonal exhaustion. But this was _Blaine’s_ album they were pushing, and he always felt bad bouncing from a function early and leaving others to plug his work for him. Kurt would normally agree, and stick it out with him, except it was the week before Christmas. They wanted to be home with the kids, baking cookies and watching corny old movies, or in Kurt’s playroom, enjoying an evening alone with the new toys Nick gave Kurt during last weekend’s adults-only gift exchange. After weeks of partying into the night and then waking up early the next day for the obligatory day time talk show interview, with little time left for anything in between, Kurt and Blaine both needed some stress relief.

“I don’t…I don’t know,” Blaine said, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, as close to an itinerary as he’d been given, and unfolding it. “It says that I have autographs to sign and that should be it.”

“Autographs?” Kurt got a strange sense of déjà vu. “That’s not bad. That should only take…”

“About two hours,” Blaine filled in with a groan bred from experience. “Ugh! Whose bright idea was this anyway?”

Kurt gave his sub a look, but he didn’t say a word. The question was most likely rhetorical anyway, but Kurt wasn’t going to be a dick and remind Blaine that rushing to put out the new album in time for Christmas was Blaine’s idea, as was most of these parties and press events. He’d hoped to make use of some of his old connections to give his publicity and sales a bit of a nepotistic boost before those lines went cold. Kurt felt for him. Blaine’s getting back into show business after his ordeal on _Sing_ was kind of like putting himself back on the market after an abusive relationship. On paper, when they were planning all this out months ago with Blaine’s manager and agent, it seemed so appealing, and Blaine looked forward to the times ahead. But here, in the thick of it, Kurt could feel Blaine’s stress levels rising, his anxiety overshadowing what should be a fun evening of doing one of the things Blaine loved the most – talking about his music.

But _selling himself_ was the part of the business that had always been hard for Blaine to handle. He’d long since put his old coping mechanisms away. It was up to Kurt to help him out.

“Breathe,” Kurt commanded, taking a deep breath in, smiling when Blaine automatically followed suit. It was that easy with them. “Look, if you feel yourself starting to stress out, just think about what you’ve got on under your clothes. Focus on it.” Kurt lowered his voice in case any more photographers passed by, though it probably wouldn’t matter. What Blaine and Kurt did in their private lives was what helped lift Kurt to stardom status himself. The particulars of their special relationship were hardly a secret anymore. “Feel the ropes of the harness around your chest, keeping you bound, keeping you secure. We’re together, and you’re safe. You don’t have to rush through tonight. And whether you believe it or not, you can leave any time you need.”

Blaine nodded, taking another deep breath and exhaling long.

“It’s not just that,” he said.

Kurt stood in front of his sub and looked into his eyes, blocking Blaine’s view of the distractions in the room, the people who had started to notice his disappearance and were waving his way, vying for his attention.

“Tell me,” Kurt said.

“This record,” Blaine started, “is the most honest I’ve been with my fans, with _myself_ , in my whole career, but I still feel like the actor - like I’m playing a part.” Blaine dropped his gaze to the flute in his hands, but Kurt put a finger beneath his chin to stop him. He wouldn’t let Blaine look away, wouldn’t let him hide from his feelings. Blaine surrendered, looking back into his Dom’s understanding eyes. “I feel like a fraud.”

“Well, you are,” Kurt said. Blaine shot him a shocked, heartbroken look. “An actor,” Kurt clarified quickly, “not a fraud.” Blaine nodded, relieved. “What’s underneath it all,” Kurt continued, putting his hands on Blaine’s shoulders, massaging gently, carefully fingering the smooth ropes of the harness tied around his chest underneath his dress shirt, “belongs to you and me. You can only give your fans and the press and the industry so much of yourself. You can’t ever give them all. You’d break down. So, no, you’re not a fraud, Blaine Anderson. You’re a human being.” Kurt’s lips quirked at one corner, and he leaned in, nibbling his sub’s lower lip in lieu of a kiss. “An exceptional, talented, sexy as fuck human being. You always have been, and you always will be.” Blaine smiled at Kurt’s compliment, and even though his instinct was to bow his head like the good sub he was, he didn’t look away. He knew Kurt didn’t want him to. “And when we get home,” Kurt whispered against the shell of Blaine’s ear, blushing from Kurt’s praise so that his Dom could feel the heat of Blaine’s skin against his lips, “I’ll strip you naked, and take you apart, piece by piece. I’ll lay you bare, undo the knots of your harness, and tie you down with it. Then I’ll show you how much your honesty turns me on.”

Any instinct to look away from Kurt’s gaze was swallowed by his words, and Blaine became trapped by that image. Tied down beneath his Dom was the one place he wanted to be right now, more than anything. He opened his mouth to comment, to agree, to beg, but one of the organizers pounced on them, clearing his throat and tapping Blaine on the shoulder in an effort to tactfully interrupt this private moment.

“Come on, Mr. Anderson,” he said with another throat clear. “Time for autographs. You’ve got a line of fans out a mile outside. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Blaine turned to look at the man behind him, Bluetooth headset stuck in his ear, clipboard in his arms, knowing more about the actual itinerary than Blaine did, ready to whisk him away, then back at Kurt and his promise of a night spent at his mercy, long hours of being kissed and touched and teased and edged. One more glance back and forth, and Blaine came to a decision he could live with.

“Thirty minutes,” Blaine said to his Dom. “Give me thirty minutes, and we’re out of here.”

Kurt raised a brow at Blaine’s tone, but Blaine flashed Kurt a grin full of the old Blaine Anderson’s cocky charm, a throwback to the day they first met - a somewhat awkward and awful memory, but also an incredible, amazing one.

“How are you going to sign two hours’ worth of autographs in thirty minutes?” Kurt chuckled.

Blaine took Kurt’s hand and kissed it, then gave it a tug, silently asking him to follow along.

“Watch me.”


	33. An Accumulation of Keys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a long time coming, and when the day finally arrived, Kurt almost couldn't handle it. It was a necessary evil, one he'd hoped he'd never have to face. But there it was, one of the saddest days of his life - the day he said goodbye to his best friend.
> 
> Okay, this is a way way way future one-shot. This has nothing to do with the story as is. This was something that popped into mind when I started writing these drabbles two plus years ago. In fact, it was so difficult for me to finish, it has two prompts from two different years in it - key from 2013, and needle from 2014.

Dave packed the last box into the U-Haul and closed the cargo gate. It seemed so strange packing up his things again. He seemed to have more boxes to his name this time around. The last time he did this was just…wait…God? Could it have been that long ago? It felt like yesterday, or a week ago. A few years at the most, but not…

 _Wow_.

Doing the math in his head, putting it into perspective, it almost made him dizzy enough to sit down. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let it get to him. Kurt was watching, and he already wasn’t taking things well. The last thing he needed was for Dave to have some sort of break down – even a tiny one. Dave would wait until they were on the road, and then…well, he wasn’t going to lie. He’d probably bawl.

He clapped his hands together, brushing off the dust. He walked back into the house, mournful blue eyes watching his every step, as he took a last look around.

“That’s the last of them,” he declared, coming out through the front door where Adam was waiting for him. Adam handed him a cold bottle of water, and Dave took it with a grateful smile. He bent his neck back to drink it, resting one hand on his hip and rubbing the nape of his stiff neck with the other.

Blaine pulled a bandana out of his pocket and wiped his forehead, catching the sweat that hung heavy on his brow and threatened to drip down into his face.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think you’re right.”

“W-wait,” Adam said. “Wait just a minute.” He, too, went in and did a final sweep to make sure nothing got left behind. He didn’t know when they’d be back, and they had a long trip ahead of them. He had to make that last walk thru count. And besides, he wanted to quietly say goodbye to the place he had had the honor of calling home, out of the blue, after he fell in love – the one thing he never expected to happen on the day he arrived to that first internship class.

Kurt didn’t help with the boxes. He didn’t help with anything. He sat on a planter, off to the corner by the front door, surveying the scene in silence. He wasn’t staging a protest, he just couldn’t be a part of this.

He couldn’t have a hand in helping his best friend leave.

“Well, that’s definitely it, love,” Adam confirmed, putting an arm around Dave’s waist. Dave wrapped his arms around his husband, and they held each other close, beaming at one another with the excitement of a new adventure in their eyes. But still, in the midst of their enthusiasm, they couldn’t help feeling that something was missing.

That something, or _someone_ , sat nearby, eyes trained on the ground.

In a house with four children, Kurt never imagined that Dave and Adam would be the last two to move out. After they got married and didn’t immediately race off to find a place of their own (which secretly thrilled Kurt), Kurt saw them sticking around with him and Blaine indefinitely. It seemed, however, that that wasn’t the case. They were waiting for the last little bird to fly the coop before they started a life of their own.

In his mind, it felt like Finn and Rachel dying all over again. As morbid as the comparison made their leaving sound, Kurt couldn’t help making it. That tremendous feeling of loss, that huge hole carving away. It never goes slowly. It weathers, starting from a point the size of a fist, punched out with the first blow, and then becomes larger in the most painful ways imaginable, until the soft heart that once was was replaced with a hard lump, one that didn’t beat, or race, or breathe.

Blaine kept trying to cheer Kurt up by making jokes about how they could have sex on all of the furniture in the house, walk around naked from sun up to sun down, move their playroom from Blaine’s old place to this one, but any mention of them becoming _empty nesters_ made Kurt excuse himself to his work space so he could cry in private.

“Well,” Dave said, even though he hated to, even though it was obvious that Kurt might still be too heartbroken to be ready. Dave didn’t know when that time would be for Kurt, but he knew it had already passed for him and Adam. “Time to add our keys to the bowl.”

Dave glanced at Kurt when he said it, saw his whole body shudder as his breath hitched, but Kurt said nothing. He didn’t move. He stared at the ground beneath his feet, trying to blend in to the pottery.

“I’ll go get it,” Blaine said solemnly. He almost didn’t want to. He didn’t like hurting Kurt either.

The bowl had been a tradition that they’d started, something that Kurt’s dad had done with him and Finn. Whenever someone moved out, they put their house key in the bowl. Kurt chose the bowl special – a crystal candy bowl that had once belonged to his mother. The bowl stayed on a table in the foyer, right by the front door, that way if anyone wanted to return, their key would be waiting to welcome them home. One by one, Kurt suffered through watching all four of Finn and Rachel’s children – _his_ children – put their keys in the bowl, as well as their friends.

Nick and Jeff had a key.

Hunter had a key.

Now Dave and Adam’s would be added.

Afterwards, Kurt and Blaine would be the only ones left.

Kurt couldn’t look at the bowl anymore. Each key in it hit Kurt like a needle through the heart.

Dave and Adam pulled their keyrings from their pockets and removed their house keys.

“On the count of three,” Dave said. Both men held their keys over the bowl. “One…two…”

“Do you guys really have to go?”

Dave lowered his key into the pile, but Adam, struck by the sadness in Kurt’s voice, curled his key back into his palm. It just seemed too cruel.

“Kurt,” Dave said, holding out a hand to his best friend, one that Kurt stood on autopilot to walk over and take, “it’s been what? Over twenty years, not counting the time we spent together before you met Blaine and I met Adam? Don’t you think it’s time?”

“No,” Kurt answered quickly, squeezing Dave’s hand. “No, I don’t. Because you’re my best friend, Dave. You’re my best friend, back from a time when things were new and the future was scary and uncertain, but still nowhere near us. Now it feels like it’s all over. The kids are gone, and that’s…that’s fine, but…I never thought I’d have to face the rest of it without you.”

“It’s not without me,” Dave said, putting his hands on Kurt’s shoulders. “We’re going to be out in Minneapolis, with Finn now that I’m managing him. You know, still keeping an eye on our boy.”

“Yeah,” Kurt said with a chuckle that tried for humorous but just came out bitter. “What in the world did you ever do to get so lucky?”

Blaine’s expression went blank, but Dave laughed. Blaine might be the love of Kurt’s life, but Dave has known him just that little bit longer.

“Kurt” – Dave smiled, trying to be glad enough for the both of them when, inside his chest, his heart was splitting in two – “I know how you feel. It’s hard for me to look inside that house, all those rooms, and see it empty, too. But, we did what we were supposed to do. We raised four _amazing_ kids. We have to trust that we did a good job, and that they’ll be fine. And, we’ll always be around for them when they need us, but now, we get to live for ourselves. And you have to, Kurt. You have to live for yourself.”

“I know, I know, and…I don’t mean to whine and sound selfish. I feel a little like Wilbur, you know. Being left behind in the barn. I thought that maybe, just maybe, one of you guys would stay behind. But all of you are going away and finding new homes for yourselves, and I’m happy for you. I really, truly am. I’m just” – Kurt sniffled – “a little sad for me.”

“Kurt, you are the backbone of this family. You always have been. You kept us all together when there were so many times we would have just fallen apart.” Dave kneaded Kurt’s shoulders gently, giving him a moment when a tear rolled down his cheek, and he looked to the side to wipe it away. “You are the strongest man I have ever met, the strongest man I have ever known.”

“Same goes for me,” Adam added, giving Kurt a smile.

“And me,” Blaine said, taking Kurt’s hand.

“Kurt,” Dave continued, “it didn’t matter where we were - this amazing house here, or our crap trailer in San Diego. They would have never been home without you. _You’re_ home, Kurt…and you always will be.”

Kurt gasped. He felt lost – lost because Dave was leaving, and lost for any response, knowing that whatever he tried to say would be swallowed by tears anyway.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice barely there, muddied and broken. He opened his arms to both men one last time. “Thank you both so much for being a part of my family.”

Adam patted Kurt’s back, but he had to turn away. Ever since the day he’d left his family in Essex to come to the states, he’d never been very good with goodbyes. But Dave stayed longer and squeezed Kurt hard, tempted to pick him up and spin him around, but he didn’t want this beautiful moment marred by Kurt slugging him in the arm.

Blaine put an arm around Kurt’s shoulder as Dave let go. The two men stood side-by-side in the driveway and watched Dave back the U-Haul out on to the street. Adam drove their Highlander, pulling out after, and following close behind. Dave looked back in the rearview at Kurt, his best friend, and Blaine, his unlikely friend, and the wonderful couple they made. Dave needed to see this. He needed to know Kurt would be okay, that he had someone to take care of him, the way he had taken care of everyone else for so long. He stuck a hand out the window and waved, and Kurt waved back. Kurt’s smile wavered, and he brought a hand up to cover it.

Dave sighed. This one road, barely a full city block, would be the hardest drive of his life. He took it slow, almost unnecessarily slow, and as he passed the houses around, he remembered all the times he’d driven up and down this way – the day they moved in, every day to and from college, taking the kids to school, to plays, to concerts, to tournaments, therapy appointments, school dances, the Prom, graduation, and then, one by one, to the airport, the train station, sending the kids off into the world, floating away like dandelion seeds, to build lives of their own.

Dave can remember every drive down this road.

Twenty-three long years.

It went by too fast. He didn’t hold on hard enough.

Dave rolled to a stop at the corner at the end of the street. He took a deep breath, took his foot off the brake and pressed down on the gas. He rounded to the right, heading straight for the highway.

Kurt and Blaine watched them until they turned that final corner, the neighborhood getting quieter, the house behind them seeming bigger. Then, with a flick of a signal and the turn of a wheel, just like that, they were gone.


	34. The Power of Cheesecake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this is kind of an addition to chapter 19 of the main story, after Kurt's time at the beach house with Blaine is cut short, and he comes back home to Dave and the kids. He cries himself to sleep and his family makes him a cheesecake to cheer him up. This is a little inset from Kurt's POV, where he reflects on his self-pity and gives the reader a little insight on this tradition of making cheesecake. Originally written for the 2014 Klaine Advent Drabble prompt 'dessert' (better late than never xD) Rated PG for one instance of a homophobic slur.

Kurt wasn’t entirely asleep when Dave tucked him into bed. He couldn’t have moved if he wanted to, opened his eyes or spoke – he was _that_ exhausted. But he felt Dave remove his shoes and his jacket, felt him tuck the blanket around him. He heard Dave leave, then him and the kids getting dinner ready in the kitchen, and slowly he sank into his mattress. As he drifted more to sleep, he started to cry. Life would continue on, of course, despite his melancholy hangover, despite his broken heart. That was the kick-in-the-balls of it all. Blaine would go back to work, perform on _Sing_ , and return to his life as a popular television sex symbol, with Sebastian and Mia by his side, and Kurt would wither in obscurity, nursing his ennui till the end of his days, despite all the promises Blaine made. Kurt knew he was being cruel. He knew he should give Blaine the benefit of the doubt. He had been nothing if not sincere about his feelings for Kurt, his want for them to be together, but Kurt felt too burnt by life in general, and its insistence in soldiering on as if everything was normal, as if no one was huddled under a thin, lumpy comforter, with their chest feeling like it was severed in two. For once, he wished that when something like this happened to him, the world would come to a grinding halt, so that everyone would be forced to recognize the pain he was in, and rally together to find a way to stop it…or else face flying off into space and disintegrating in the atmosphere.

He felt tired and weak, but most of all pathetic. He was stronger than this. Only teenagers hid under their covers and cried over lovers they could never have, had no hopes of having. Kurt was no teenager. He was a man, with four children.

And he was a Dominatrix.

But right now, he felt like an idiot.

A moment before he fell completely asleep, surrendering to the darkness that would take him away from his pain, he smelled something sweet - warm and comforting - waft into the back bedroom, and despite the tears drying on his cheeks and his non-stop runny nose, he smiled.

Dave remembered.

It was a tradition his mother started, which was probably where Kurt’s cheesecake addiction began. What she could do with a block of Philadelphia cream cheese was unparalleled in all the dessert making world. After she passed, his father picked up the torch, even though his only experience cooking was burgers on the grill during major summer holidays and the occasional pot of spaghetti. But it was his way of helping his son cope. Neither of them knew exactly how to make Elizabeth Hummel’s famous cheesecake. Kurt was the one who cooked with his mom, and he paid close attention, but she had certain techniques, special twists that she promised she would teach him when he got older. Father and son never really did learn how to make it _her_ way, but what they came up with was good, made better by the fact that they figured it out together.

Unfortunately, this tradition had the side-effect of engraining every painful moment Kurt had ever experienced into his brain, since whenever any tragedy occurred, it was commemorated with Kurt’s favorite dessert.

The first time he was tossed into a dumpster.

The first time he was called a _fag_.

Every time he lost a solo to Rachel.

His father’s heart attack.

The day Dave kissed him in the locker room.

The day Darren cheated on him.

He remembered them, each and every one with startling cream-and-sugar clarity.

And the worst of them all so far – the day Finn and Rachel died.

Kurt had stayed up that night (since there was no way he’d ever be able to sleep) and made what was probably the finest cheesecake he had ever created, but he couldn’t recall if he, or Dave, or the kids, took a bite; if they tossed it in the trash; or if they gave it to one of the neighbors, and she told him later on how amazing it was to soothe the sting of why she had really stopped by – to offer her condolences.

He made three more cheesecakes for the wake, and on the first night after they moved in to the dumpy trailer they were living in now, he made another one – the unbaked kind since the electricity wasn’t the best and the oven, an old 1960s model that came with the trailer, had apparently left scorch marks on the walls from a few previous fires. Their little family had already fallen on hard times. He didn’t want to add to that by setting their home ablaze.

Kurt thought about all these things, considered the depressing events he had attached to his consumption of cheesecake, and sighed.

He really had to find a different dessert to express his malaise, or he’d have to stop eating cheesecake altogether, and that he simply refused to do.


	35. The Realization of a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An excited Blaine interrupts his Dom's quiet time to give him good news.
> 
> Not news that Kurt was hoping for but, in the end, he can see the importance of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompt 'guess'.

Kurt had heard the front door open and close several times, accompanied by the running of feet, but he refused to look up from his magazine. With the hoopla of Christmas around the corner and orders coming in faster than he knew how to fill them, this was the first time in weeks he’d been able to just sit and read. There were other competent adults in the house that were more than capable of wrangling a few rowdy kids stringing lights. So it wasn’t until Blaine plopped down on the sofa beside him, giggling, that Kurt even raised his head, wondering why the interruption.

He looked at Blaine’s face, his pinched lip, squinty eyes, and trembling cheeks holding back a rain of laughter, and smiled. He couldn’t help it. Excited Blaine was just too adorable. “Well, well, well, why are you so giddy?”

Blaine took a deep breath and sighed as if, whatever was on his mind, it had come _at long last_. “Kurt, today I have realized a tremendous dream.”

“Really?” Kurt closed his magazine, so intrigued, he forgot to stick something between the pages to hold his place.

“Really. A dream I’ve had since I was a child.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense! Tell me!”

“Guess.”

“Grr!” Kurt growled. He hated guessing games. But for the sake of the goofy smile on Blaine’s face, he played along. “You … got confirmation on your new recording contract?”

“Not yet,” Blaine said, but that didn’t dim his smile, so whatever it was, it had to be bigger.

“Oo! You won the auction for that vintage guitar you wanted?”

“Meh. They found out who ExSingGuy86 was and offered to sell it to me at a discount. So I just went ahead and bought it. But that’s not it.”

“Not the guitar, huh?” Kurt muttered, stalling as he racked his brain to remember the many times they had talked about Blaine’s childhood dreams, and narrowing down which one could have come true moments ago. “Oh! You got the star! On the Walk of Fame!”

Blaine shook his head, but proudly since Kurt had yet to guess correct. “Haven’t found out about that yet either.”

“Blaine!” Kurt whined. “I have no idea! Tell me!!”

Blaine started humming a song Kurt could barely make out, but it was such familiar music that it struck a chord in his head, and he immediately knew the words.

He frowned.

“Blaine,” Kurt said, smile fading to nothing more than a line, his eyes under-amused, “is there an eight foot inflatable snowman in the front yard?”

“May-be …” Blaine bit his lip harder, giggling again.

Kurt sighed. “And a six foot reindeer?”

Blaine didn’t answer, smiling until it overwhelmed his face.

Kurt shook his head, but he wasn’t angry. It’s just that he and Blaine had been on the edge of their seats waiting for news of so many things that Christmas decorations, to Kurt, were kind of a letdown. But he had forgotten what Blaine’s life had been like since he left his parents’ home. Without love, without a family, things like Christmas meant little else than another press tour, another Christmas special, another opportunity to plug ‘ _Sing’_ any chance he got, his image slapped on everything from calendars, to ornaments, to paper plates.

It made him embarrassed and sick.

But this Christmas, he was far from any of that. All he felt was joy. Now that he had a house filled with love and kids, Blaine had started recapturing the things he’d missed out on, even if a few of them could be considered adolescent.

Lawn ornaments, apparently, were a part of that. At Blaine’s house growing up, inflatable Christmas decorations were considered too _tacky_ for his parents to allow. A decade or two ago, Kurt might have agreed.

Having kids made Kurt realize that when it came to making someone happy, there’s no such thing as _tacky_.

“Show me,” Kurt commanded, holding out his hand for Blaine’s phone because he just knew Blaine had taken pictures. He’d probably uploaded them to Facebook, too, but taking Blaine’s phone was easier. Kurt opened Blaine’s gallery, and the first picture that came up was of Blaine posing in front of – he guessed it - a gigantic snowman. But it had to have been taken by Eva because it was slightly blurry and titled to the left. Kurt swiped through picture after picture of Blaine and Eva with the snowman, Eva and Finn with the snowman, Barbra and Elphie with the reindeer, then the whole group of them gathered around these inflated monstrosities … looking happier than ever.

Kurt enlarged the image of the snowman, and focused in on the stakes.

“Blaine? Did you use the knots we learned in Shibari class to tie them down?”

“Yup,” Blaine admitted, bouncing on his couch cushion with glee.

“Ha” - Kurt nodded in appreciation of his skill - “Impressive. I heartily approve.”

“You do?” Blaine asked, the sub in him needing his Dom’s approval, even for silly little things like this – things that he didn’t talk over with Kurt beforehand because he didn’t always have to. The house, for example, belonged to everyone who lived in it as far as Kurt was concerned. Everyone had a say as to what went inside, outside, or up on the walls … within reason.

But reassurance and positive affirmation (of the genuine variety) was something Blaine needed. It was something that, in the past, he hadn’t always gotten enough of.

And he had starved emotionally for lack of it.

“Does it make you happy, love?” Kurt asked.

“Yes,” Blaine said, less giddy, more subdued, the way he behaved when he came to Kurt as a submissive instead of as a lover.

“Then, yes” - Kurt put an arm around Blaine’s shoulders and hugged him tight, making up for all the years he wasn’t held by arms that truly loved him - “I definitely approve.”


End file.
